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Copyrighted 1926 by 
MRS. SARAH E. SNOW 
Wayton, Arkansas 


Published by 

NORTON PRINTING COMPANY 
Pine Bluff, Arkansas 








AUG 31 1926 


®C! AO 477 36 




Foreword 


To those in whose hands this book finds 
it way, I wish to convey my greetings, and 
to assure you that it has been a great pleas¬ 
ure to me to be spared, and able to write the 
only authentic history that has ever been 
written by a member of the noted, or as 
some might express it, “notorious” James 
Brothers Gang, whose operations extended 
over a time, beginning with the outrages 
which were perpetrated / on the family 
of the parents of Jesse and Frank 
James, by the Quantral Band, which will be 
narra ted in the pages which are to follow, 
and going through the different operations 
of the Jesse and Frank James Gang of out¬ 
laws, ending with his death, which occurred 
at Wayton, Newton county, Arkansas, on 
the 14th day of February, 1926. 

This history was written by Frank James, 
himself, at odd times, during his latter years 
and was, two years before his death en¬ 
trusted to his daughter, Mrs. Sarah E. 
Snow, of Wayton, Ark., with his request 
that it be kept a secret until after he had 
passed away, after which, it was his desire 
that it be published to the world, and his 
identity disclosed, in order that the world 
might learn some of the true facts concern¬ 
ing the whys and wherefores leading up to, 

1 


and the causes which forced these two 
brothers into outlawry, and made it neces¬ 
sary that they become fugitives from jus¬ 
tice ever afterwards, and made it impossi¬ 
ble for them to live peaceably with the 
world, and robbed them of the privileges of 
home and family enjoyments, and forced 
them to live under assumed names until 
their death. 

And if possible, to convey the fact that 
Frank James was never a bad man at 
heart, but merely a victim of circumstances. 
He never committed a murder in the offen¬ 
sive sense, but only killed when he was forc¬ 
ed to do so, in the protection of his own life, 
or in open gun battle with the law, or with 
his enemies. On more than one occasion, it 
was his influence over the band, or fear of 
him, that saved the lives of innocent par¬ 
ties, of women and children. He would nev¬ 
er permit the band to ruthlessly murder, 
and on one occasion, when the band was 
determined to burn a town in which they 
had had great opposition, and murder men, 
women and children alike, it was Frank 
James who confronted his band, and told 
them that they could burn the town, and 
kill its men, but if any member of the band 
was seen shooting a woman or child that 
he would kill him like he would a dog, eve 11 if 
it were his brother Jesse. Needless to say, 
the town was burned, and the men shot, but 
not a woman or child was harmed. 

Now it was the desire of my father, Frank 

2 


James, that after his death this book be 
published, as there has never been a history 
of his life and operations published, or a 
true picture of himself printed, or a photo¬ 
graph taken of him, except those published 
in this book. 

With these few remarks, I shall leave it 
to you, dear reader, to form your own 
opinion of the character of my father, 
Frank James. 

—SARAH E. SNOW. 

Jasper, Ark. 


3 


FAMILY PHYSICIAN’S TESTIMONY 
CONCERNING FRANK JAMES 


I have for the past twenty-five years 
known a man, who called himself Joe 
Vaughn, to be honest, sincere and faithful 
with his ' fellowman. 

I always found him democratic in his 
ideas and a deep man to reason. He talked, 
but not of himself—sometimes remarking, 
that ours was a world easily fooled. 

I did the Vaughn practive for more than 
twenty years, and only twice during that 
time were my suspicions aroused. Once 
while only a mere stranger to Vaughn, in 
1909. I was out for an early morning hunt, 
and wandered off my own farm to the 
Vaughn land. Wtih my shot-gun in hand, I 
stepped to his cabin door to make inquiry 
and to my great surprise Mr. Vaughn seem¬ 
ed nervous and excited. I saw at once that 
something was wrong with him, so I set 
down my gun and began conversing with 
him in a neighborly manner. The old man 
soon became himself again, but I felt be had 
a history behind. 

At another time, he demonstrated to a 
crowd of boys how he could use a revolver. 
I saw then that he was no common “Hill 
Billy” or “Rattle Head” as he signed himself 
to articles written for different papers— 

4 


I saw that somewhere and some time he had 
had experience and training with a gun. 

Had “Uncle Joe” not have felt unusually 
good that morning from the effects of 
spirits fermented he would never have 
sent those shots ringing through the air, 
that made the native boys envious. 

At that time I looked through a glass 
dimly, but now I know. 

(Signed) DR. JOHN O. McFERRIN 
Jasper, Ark., July 3, 1926. 


6 


COUNTY OFFICERS’ TESIMONY 


To Whom It May Concern: 

This is to certify that we, the undersign¬ 
ed citizens and officials of Newton County, 
Arkansas, hereby state that we were per¬ 
sonally acquainted with Joe Vaughn, late of 
Way ton, Arkansas, during his lifetime. We 
knew him for more than twenty years and 
have known that he has been a citizen of 
this county for many more years than this. 

We have been under the impression for 
many years that Joe Vaugn was not the 
real name of this man but that he had been 
going under an assumed name since he has 
been a citizen of this county, which has 
been about forty-five years. During these 
years he has been an excellent citizen and 
served this county as surveyor for several 
years. 

During the last few years of his life he 
wrote a history revealing his identity and 
knowing him as we did we are of the opinion 
that this is a true history of his life and that 
he is really Frank James, whom he claims 
to be. 

Respectfully submitted, 

A. B. ARBAUGH, County Judge, Newton 
County. 

E. C. SHINN, County Clerk. 

WILL JONES, Sheriff. 

JAMES PHILLIPS. 


6 



The home of Frank James, at Way ton, Ark., where 
he died, February 14th, 1926 








CHAPTER 1 


I have been solicited by my many friends 
to write a sketch of my life, so that they can 
read it after I have passed this stage of ac¬ 
tion. To satisfy their wishes I have con¬ 
sented to write a short sketch of my life. 

Many people believe that I am living un¬ 
der an assumed name, that therei is a dark 
spot on my life’s record, put there before I 
came into this country. 

Detectives, with names of the most noted 
criminals, have tried in vain to throw me off 
my guard, so that I would reveal to them 
my native country. Though all have agreed 
that if I have committed a crime before I 
came into this country, it was done to retal¬ 
iate for something done to me. 

“Do unto others as they have done unto 
you,” is the rule which I have practiced 
from my earliest life, and I have kept it 
bright in my memory until I laid away my 
old life and entered the new. 

About seventy-eight years ago I came 
prancing and yelling into this old rocky 
world. I was born in the State of Missouri, 
a few years before the Missouri Pacific 
Railroad was laid from St. Louis to the 
Rockies. About this time dissatisfaction 
sprang up between the North and the South, 
war was coming on. I was sixteen years 


7 


old when the Civil war broke out between 
the Norhth and the South. My brother was 
fourteen years of age. 

General Price was recruiting in South¬ 
west, Missouri. My brother and myself 
were too young to enlist in the service. Af¬ 
ter the fights at Wilson Creek and at Lex¬ 
ington, General Price began drifting South, 
leaving the State of Missouri in the hands 
of the Pederals. And permit me to say right 
here, that the United States soldiers never 
committed and dishonorable acts while 
traveling through the State of Missouri. 
They treated all Southerners with due re¬ 
spect. 

There were another class, however, 
known as the State Militia, the most of 
whom were too cowardly to enlist in the 
regular army and fight for their country, 
but were satisfied to live in idleness, draw¬ 
ing clothing and blankets from the govern¬ 
ment, which they pretended to be serving. 

There was still another class of scala¬ 
wags known as the Home Guards, who 
were too dirty to be noticed by the other 
two classes. They spent their time robbing 
innocent people of their knives, forks, 
plates, teacups and saucers, feather beds, 
quilts, and everything that they might find. 
They were a pest to the people of Missouri. 
The other or regular soldiers looked upon 
them with disgust and contempt. 

My father owned one hundred and sixty 
acres of choice land near the center of a 


8 


Dutch Colony. These Dutchmen belonged 
to the Home Guards. My father was a 
Southerner, and this caused trouble, at an 
early date. 

Father emigrated from the State of Ten¬ 
nessee to Missouri, and married Miss Agnes 
Collins. Three children were born to them, 
one being William Nelson, alias Jesse James, 
myself, and James Monroe. A short time 
after Jim was born. Mother died with con¬ 
sumption. Father soon married Miss Malinda 
Rymel, and to them five children were born, 
being George, John, Marion, Marguerite and 
Sarah-Agness. 

Our Dutch neighbors informed father 
that if he did not sell his farm to them that 
they would kill him. This, of course, lead to 
much bad trouble between my father and 
his Dutch neighbors. 

Father was a peaceable man, when not 
aggravated, and the Dutch were afarid of 
him. They at first thought that they could 
scare father, and make him sell his farm to 
them, and move away; in this, however, 
the^ were very badly mistaken. Father 
knew no fear. 

A short time before father was killed, Ma¬ 
jor Dunn slipped up behind him and stabbed 
him in the side, while he was in conversa¬ 
tion with another man. Major Dunn was 
the first man killed in the Lexington fight. 
When father was well of his wounds, he was 
accused of being an accessory in the killing 
of Jake Bower, and an Indemnity Tax of 


$1,000 was levied on all the Southern sym¬ 
pathizers of our community, for the widow. 
Father’s part of this tax amounted to $35.00 

When the tax collector came to collect 
father’s tax, they drove off a yoke of steers, 
which was worth twice the amount of 
father’s tax, and these steers happened to 
belong to me. As they drove off the steers 
up the lane, my brother and myself took an 
oath that we would make our Dutch neigh¬ 
bors pay dearly for driving off my steers, so 
that night we went to the home of Fred Ev¬ 
erhart, ran him and his family from home; 
broke their stove, dishes, cut their beds and 
quilts in strips, and went home satisfied 
with our first night’s raid. 

The next day the country was scoured by 
the malicious Home Guards, the excitement 
passed, and no one had an idea that my 
brother or I had anything to with the 
smashup. 

A short time after our night raid on the 
old Dutchman, father was ordered to ap¬ 
pear at headquarters to answer the charges 
of feeding Bushwhackers. At the trial fa¬ 
ther proved himself inocent. After the trial 
he thought to save his life, he joined the 
Militia, but before a week had rolled away 
father was shot and killed, while returning 
to camp from picket duty. Henry Fink, Carl 
Cubert and Fred Everhart lay in ambush un¬ 
til after my father’s burial. He was laid away 
to rest at Mt. Lebanon, beside my mother. 

A few days after my father was buried, 

10 


while my brother and I were plowing in the 
field, a squad of Duth Home Guards rode 
into the field, tied our plow lines around our 
necks and drove us to the house like year¬ 
ling calves, in the presence of my step 
mother, our sisters, and our brothers, we 
were kicked and cuffed to their hearts’ con¬ 
tent. 

This was more than our step mother 
could stand, and she said to the beef-bellied 
captain, the Andersons, Shepherds, Millers 
and Quantrals, “If you don’t turn these boys 
loose, you will see the black flag of Quantral 
waving over this part of the country.” “Do 
your worst, you old Devils; the day is com¬ 
ing when you will wish that you had never 
been born. I was turned loose but my broth¬ 
er was taken away towards the woods to be 
hanged. When near the woods he slipped 
the noose from around his neck, and made 
his escape. 

As soon as I was free I took my father’s 
gun from the rack, ran across the field a 
near way to the woods, determined to shoot 
the man who attempted to hang my brother. 
At the fence, however, I met my brother. He 
took the gun, and we walked out in the 
open and defied the squad as they were re¬ 
turning back toward the house. Fear took 
possession of them, and they turned, put¬ 
ting spurs to their horses flanks, and gal¬ 
loped away, and were never seen any more 
that day. 


11 


CHAPTER 11 


On the night after the fearful experience 
of the day before, which was narrated in 
the chapter preceding this, brother started 
for the Camp of Montralian, Jackson coun¬ 
ty, and I went to the woods, like a scared 
rabbit. 

Upon my bed of leaves in the thick woods, 
I could hear the sound of army bugles down 
at the soldiers’ camp and the boom of dis¬ 
tant cannon. I took father’s rifle with me 
to the woods. During the day I hunted and 
fished, and spent the time splendidly and 
pleasantly. 

About a wek after I had began hiding, 
I managed to get in touch with Jake and 
Sam Wede Brock, two old school chums, 
and after that, we had a good time playing 
Bushwackers. One night we painted up like 
Indians, on the war path, and went over to 
Henry Finks’. We intended to kill him. He 
was not at home. After giving his family a 
general round up, we separated. Sam and 
Jake went home and slept like little angles, 
and I went to the woods. The next day, the 
notorious bushwhackers, under Bill Ander¬ 
son, came into our settlement, disguised as 
Federals. He had twenty or twenty-five of 
his men with him. They went to John Ever¬ 
hart’s, a home guard Captian, whom Gener¬ 
al Rosencrance had detailed him to kill and 
burn out all the rebel sympathizers. 

The old counterfeit wrote a list of names 


12 


of men that deserved killing on a piece of 
paper, and handed it to Anderson. Ander¬ 
son asked the Dutch Captain to go with him. 
That evening the Dutch Captain caught his 
horse and rode away with the squad. When 
a short distance away from the Dutchman’s 
house, a young man checked his horse, 
drew his pistol, and fired. The Dutchman 
fell from his horse to the ground, the blood 
spurting from his neck. Lay there, you old 
kraut stand, said the young man as he rode 
on with the squad. No other man was dis¬ 
turbed that day. 

For a while after this, all that was requir¬ 
ed to send a Dutchman on a hike, was to 
slip up close to his house and shoot off a 
gun or pistol. 

Sam, Jake and I had a glorious time run¬ 
ning a cowardly Dutchman and his family 
from their homes, then breaking his stoves 
and everything that was loose. After tak¬ 
ing revenge on the household goods, we 
we kept our camp so beautifully supplied, 
with chickens and eggs, that we called it 
Camp Supply. 

One evening brother Nelse, Cell Miller, Oil 
and George Shepherd rode into camp. My 
step-mother had informed them where I 
was. They informed me that they were go¬ 
ing South to spend the winter months, and 
wanted me to go with them. I mounted be¬ 
hind brother Nelse, and rode home, where 
we began to make preparations for a hasty 
get-away. My step-mother gave me a fine 


13 


horse and saddle, and by nightfall we were 
ready for the start. We went by the Weed- 
sooks to bid Sam and Jake good-bye. Then 
we turned our directions toward the Home 
Guard Camp, on the Moro. They had 
stacked their arms, and were busy with 
their supper. They had no idea an enemy 
was near, until they heard loud shouts and 
the popping of pistols in their midst. 

The stampede was complete. They ran 
off through the woods in the direction of 
town, making more noise than a bunch of 
stampeded cattle. They left their horses, 
guns, some pistols, and ammunition. We 
made a hurried examination of camp. We 
found Henry Fink, one of father’s slayers, 
dead, two others mortally wounded. I pick¬ 
ed out a musket and two revolvers from the 
junk pile. We put the ammunition that we 
could get our hands on in our saddle bags, 
bent the barrels of all the guns and pistols 
we could find, then set our faces toward the 
Osage river hills, satisfied with our night’s 
work. 

As daylight began to dapple the east 
next morning, we reached Sam Smitey’s, an 
old friend of the Shepherds. Mrs. Smitey 
tried to persuade me to stay with her and 
Sam until the war was over, telling me that 
I was too young to stand the hardships of a 
soldier. She cried after me as we rode 
away. 

That evening we crossed the Osage river 
at Warsaw. Eight days after leaving 

14 



FRANK JAMES 

As he appeared, a farmer of Newton County, 
Arkansas, at the age of 58 




























Smitey’s found us at Wadeville, among the 
Choctaws, 60 miles west of Dallas, and sev¬ 
enty-five miles southwest of Fort Smith, we 
gave the Cherokees a wide berth. We did 
not want to meet any of them, as they are 
natural-born fighters. When they go into 
battle they go either to kill or get killed. 
The word quit is unknown to them. 

A short time after that we had taken up 
quarters at Wadeville. Brother Bill led a 
bunch of Choctaws against a United States 
Forage train, on Bishop Prairie, thirty-five 
miles south of Fort Smith. The train was 
captured without the loss of a man. This 
pleased the Indians, and they expressed 
their sorrow when we left them the follow¬ 
ing spring. 

We paid a visit to my mother that winter. 
That night while at my mother’s the house 
was surrounded by a hard looking bunch of 
men, as hard looking as ever walked in old 
Missouri. We got on our horses and rode 
in the direction of the Kinniche river, and 
jvere headed for Bishop Prairie, Sebastain 
County, Arkansas. After reaching there we 
learned that the forage party that we were 
after, had loaded their wagons the day be¬ 
fore, and were on their way to Fort Smith. 
Determined not to be cheated out of a 
brush with our enemies, we turned in the di¬ 
rection of Fort Smith. At the little red mill, 
on Village Creek, two miles South of the 
fort, we were met by a Company of Feder- 
als, sent out by Colonel Blunt, to attack us. 

15 


It was a hard fight. The Pederals fought 
like men, and stood their ground bravely, 
while the red devils were pouring red hot 
balls at us, we were pouring red hot 
balls into their ranks. The battle was in 
favor of the Choctaws, until the open 
mounted cannon began to boom upon a lit¬ 
tle hill close by, then all was confusion 
among the Choctaws. They stood like rang¬ 
ers for an hour of hard fighting. We won 
the battle, and the Choctaws were pleased 
to learn that we would go with them in 
their contemplated raid. 

After a short rest, we were mustered in 
with the Choctaws, with Morris, as leader; 
so one bright morning two hundred of as 
hard looking bunch of men as ever graced 
the prairie of Oklahoma, rode up the Kin- 
niche river, headed for Bishop Prairie, Se- 
bastain County, Arkansas. 

I stayed with the Indians that coming 
winter. In the spring I paid a visit to my 
mother. I went through the woods until I 
reached our pasture fence. There I conceal¬ 
ed myself in the thicket until night came 
on. Dear readers, let your mind run back 
on a boy lying in his home pasture, waiting 
for night to come. I could see mother 
walking from one house to the other; see 
the family as they were doing up their even¬ 
ing’s work. Such a feeling a boy never had. 

When darkness closed out the scenes of 
day, and those of earth could no longer see 
this boy, I wended my way ever to the 


16 


house. My stepmother saw me. Her face 
faded to the color of snow, as she raised 
her hands above her head and screamed, 
“the dead is a live;” while Sarah and Mar¬ 
garet prepared supper. My step mother 
gave me the news. She told me that the 
people of that country were in constant 
fear of the remnants of - the old guerilla 
gang. 

We had eaten supper, and were sitting 
down for a general chat when some one 
sent out a “hello” at the gate. My step¬ 
mother stepped to the door and asked what 
was wanted. He replied: “I am just from 
town. It is reported that one of the boys 
came home this evening, and the sheriff, 
when I left town, was making up a posse 
to help him make the arrest of any of the 
boys if they are here. They wlil be here 
in a short time.” It was Lum Anderson giv¬ 
ing us warning of approaching danger. 

I bade my step-mother a hasty farewell. 
In our calf pasture I waited to learn if there 
was any truth in the story which Anderson 
had told us. I had not long to wait, as in a 
short time the house was surrounded by the 
sheriff and his posse. After asking my step¬ 
mother a few questions, they said “it is a 
fake report, boys, and I am going home.” 

With this they rode up the road a 
short distance, and halted and began to 
consult with each other. I knew that the 
hunt was not over, and knew also that if I 


17 


were to make my escape, I must do it now. 
So I bade my old home good-bye. 

It was hard to give up home, brothers and 
sisters, and, be thrown out a wanderer and 
an outcast in this unfeeling world, charged 
with crimes which you never committed. It 
is true I had been a bad boy, but no worse 
than many other boys. No one can truth¬ 
fully say that I am of a low, degrading fam¬ 
ily. My people are kind and affectionate. 
It is true, that “Bad Nelse,” a nick name for 
one of my brothers, was the only real black- 
sheep in our family. He always had a bad 
disposition. Kill was his motto, when he got 
mad. I never liked his company. His domi¬ 
neering disposition caused many of his com¬ 
rades to dislike him. 

While I was making my get-a-way from 
the sheriff and his posse, Bad Nelse was 
passing as a horse Jockey, in Kansas City, 
Mo. I plodded my way to Elas Station, and 
wandered about for a long time, got with 
my brother and went back home. 

We went to Mike Fink’s one night, and 
told his wife that we would not mistreat her 
or any of her family, but Mike was a doom¬ 
ed man. That our mission to his home that 
night was to kill him. Sam and Jake were 
Dutch. Their parents were from Germany. 
Sam and I had fought twice while going to 
school, but they could not see any of us 
abused by a set of cowardly skunks, a name 
they gave the Home Guards. Not one of 
the Home Guards worked for a living. We 


18 


were working, laboring. Winter was com¬ 
ing on, and the leaves of the trees were put¬ 
ting on a golden hue. I knew that I must go 
South before winter snows came on. To stay 
meant capture, and capture meant death. I 
went to my step-mother one evening; broth¬ 
er Bill, Bill Camel and Cell Miller were 
there. They were in the act of sending for 
me when I came. They were on their way 
South, but I decided not to go with them. I 
would stay in my hiding place a while long¬ 
er. While laying on my bed of leaves night 
after night, and listening to the roar of the 
distant cannon. 

One night Sam and Jake Wadebrook, my 
old friends, visted me at my camp, and gave 
me the news. They said that a few days 
before a squad of men dressed in Federal 
uniform, claiming to be sent out by General 
Bosencrance, to kill and burn out all South¬ 
ern sympathizers rode up to Jake Everhart’s 
and told him he could not live at home any 
longer, so he joined Jim Saphington’s com¬ 
pany of State Militia. 

Well do I remember the day my father was 
killed. The boys of this day do not know 
what hardships are. Henry Fink, Winegar 
and Fred Everharts are the men who caused 
me to live the life I did. I was merely a lad 
of sixteen when I drove my father home 
shot. He lived from Friday until the follow¬ 
ing Monday. I drove a yoke of cattle, and 
took my father home, a distance of thirty 
live miles. 


19 


People of today, just turn your minds 
back on that sixteen-year old boy, driving his 
father home through the night; his father 
not able to say just one word. Then after 
father was laid to rest, our enemies would 
tie a rope around my neck, and tell my step¬ 
mother that they were going to hang me if 
we did not sell them our farm. 

I will go to my grave carrying knots on 
the back of my head where I have been drug 
like a brute, and threatenings at the same 
time to burn our farm home. This was the 
cause of Bill Anderson coming disguised as 
a home guard, and asking Everhart to go 
with him and help him burn out the South¬ 
ern sympathizers. Everhart caught his 
horse and rode with them, and when about 
one hundred yards from his own home, a 
young man shot and killed him. There was 
no burning done that day nor the next. This 
was the work of the notorious Bill Ander¬ 
son. This act scared the home guards. The 
sound of a gun or a pistol would run one 
from home. Many took their families to 
headquarters for protection. 

For the next few days Sam, Jake and I 
had a time tearing down fences, from 
around wheat fields, robbing chicken roosts 
and destroying property in every conceiva¬ 
ble shape. We would disguise ourselves and 
go to a home guard house and read their 
doom, take what we wanted do as we pleas¬ 
ed. I just kept drifting further away. Every 
time I would go home, the home guards 

20 


were after me, so I finanlly went to the Ter¬ 
ritory and lived among the Indians for a 
long time. 


2i 


CHAPTER 4 


Finally I returned to old Missouri, and by 
this time young William Quantral was car¬ 
rying the day. If you will be patient with 
me I will tell you the story of young William 
Quantral. 

William Quantral was born in the State 
of Kentucky, completed his education in a 
University in the State of Illnois, in the year 
1861. He received a letter from his brother 
at Kansas City, soliciting him to join him in 
a trip across the Rocky Mountains, in 
search of gold. This suited William Quan¬ 
tral, and within a month’s time, they were 
ready to start on their long journey across 
the plains. Their outfit consisted of a pair 
of mules, hitched to a canvas top Prairie 
Schooner, loaded with arms and provisions. 
On the fourth day after leaving Kansas 
City, while eating dinner, they were sur¬ 
prised by a squad of Kansas Red Legs, who, 
after killing the elder Quantral, and severe¬ 
ly wounding William, they drove the team 
off towards the town of Lawrence, leaving 
William Quantral destitute of anything to 
eat or defend himself with. All evening he 
lay unconscious in the hot Kansas sun. As 
the coolness of a departing day came on, 
and the twilight began to creep over the 
earth, young Quantral revived, and saw his 
awful condition. There before him lay his 
brother cold in death. Destitution on every 
hand. Now and then a lonely wolf would 


22 



The wife of Frank Janies^ who now lives at 
Wayton, Arkansas 
































send forth from the darkness a yelp that 
froze the blood in the veins of young Quan- 
tral. All night he lay sick and wounded be¬ 
side his dead brother, with a drawn knife, to 
protect him from the wild beasts. 

When morning came he drank from a 
stream called the Little Blue, which ran 
close by. He then began to scoop a hole in 
the sand in which to bury his dead brother. 
The loss of blood and the growing hunger 
made him very weak. All that day he work¬ 
ed faithfully. Then another awful night set 
in for the lone sufferer. All night the wild 
beasts kept up a continuous serenade, and 
approaching near the lonely watcher. Morn¬ 
ing came at last, and with it came an Indian, 
in his buckboard, who assisted Quantral in 
burying his dead brother; and Quantral be¬ 
fore leaving the grave of his murdered 
brother, took upon himself, an awful oath 
to kill Jim Lane and all his followers. 

Jim Lane was a Kansas bushwhacker, 
and headed the squad that raided the camp 
of the Quantrals. This pleased the Indian. 
This untutored red man of the Kansas Prai¬ 
ries took Quantral home with him, and 
nursed him back to strength and health. 

When Quantral left the home of his In¬ 
dian friend he was in possession of two 
Manhattan Six Shooters and an army mus¬ 
ket. With a broken heart, he retraced his 
route back to Kansas City, thence to Inde¬ 
pendence, Missouri, where the noted Bill 
Anderson was recruiting a company of 

23 


skalawags and toughs to raid Kansas. At 
Independence Quantral began to organize 
for the same purpose. Quantral always ad¬ 
ministered an awful oath to those who en¬ 
listed in his cause, under the fold of the 
black flag. The recruit took an obligation to 
ask no quarters and give none as long as 
the black flag was ablol to wave over them 
while battling with an enemy. At the end 
of a year Quantral and Anderson were able 
to muster out two hundred men, who were 
eager to wreak vengeance on some one who 
had done them wrong. They had a place of 
meeting in a thick wood in Jackson County, 
Missouri. 

One night just before the guards were set, 
Quantral addressed his followers, telling 
them why he was a bushwhacker, giving 
them his experience on the Kansas border. 
“At daylight tomorrow morning, I start to 
Lawrence, the home of my mortal enemy, 
Jim Lane. I can never die satisfied until my 
brother Charlie is avenged. If you are will¬ 
ing to go with me, I welcome you, if you 
don’t want to go with me, I will relieve you 
of all obligations.” 

The camp was astir the next morning, 
very early, and as soon as the men had their 
breakfast, and the horses had finished their 
hay Quantral caught his horse, mounted 
him, then turning his face towards the 
crowd, and in a commanding voice, he ask¬ 
ed: “What is the decision, boys?” Then a 
shout rent the morning breeze, and echoed 


24 


from hill to hill—“On to Kansas, Quantral, 
forever,” came from two hundred throats. 

That evening Quantral and his followers 
crossed over into Kansas, dressed in Federal 
uniforms. The Union soldiers stationed 
along their route had no idea that this 
bunch of innocent looking men were the 
red dare devils of Northwest Missouri, on a 
mission of destruction. Before Quantral 
raided Larence, it was a thriving little 
town, situated on the river Low, in Kansas. 
Little did the business men of the town 
think on that fatal morning, July, 1863, that 
before the sun went down Lawrence would 
be a smoking pile of ruins, Jim Lane, the 
noted bushwhacker, and bad man of Kan¬ 
sas made his home in Lawrence. It was a 
common thing for Union Soldiers to visit 
the town. For this reason little attention 
was paid to Quantral and his outfit, when 
they entered their town. 

The citizens knew the murderous inten¬ 
tions of the newcomers when the black flag 
was raised. Fear and consternation filled 
every breast when they heard the yell of the 
lawless hoard, as they swept down upon 
them. The torch was applied to the stores, 
shops and dwelling houses. When Quantral 
and his men rode away the town of Law¬ 
rence was a heap of ruins. Jim Lane made 
his escape. 

Quantral and his men had a hard time 
getting back to Missouri. Many lawless 
devils lost their lives while running the 


25 


gauntlet. Eight hundred Kansas soldiers 
chased them to the Missouri line. The peo¬ 
ple of Missouri, after the Lawrence raid, 
looked on Quantral as an unnecessary evil, 
so the lion and his whelps must leave Mis¬ 
souri. 

The old guerilla fighter, after the Centra- 
lia fight, gathered together the remnants of 
his band, and went to Kentucky. A short 
time after going to Kentucky, Quantral, 
and most of his followers, were killed in a 
fight with a bunch of Federals, in a Ken¬ 
tucky town called Smiley. Frank James, 
Cell Miller, Oil and George Shepherd and 
Jim Reed made their get-a-way. These hid 
themselves for a time among their kinfolks 
in the Kentucky mountains. 

CHAPTER 5 

It was during the year of 1863, when I 
was in Jackson County, Missouri, on a 
hunt for Quantral, I wanted to enlist in his 
cause. I asked every one that I met, if they 
could direct me to the camp of the guerilla. 
Late one evening I met a man who told me 
that Quantral’s camp was in a dense woods, 
about one mile away. He showed me a 
trail which led to it. The trail led me 
through a rough, and uneven country. In 
places it was difficult to travel. I had reach¬ 
ed the summit of a low ridge when sudden¬ 
ly some one close by said halt. I stopped 
and looked in the direction from which the 
sound came, when I saw two men with 
drawn revolvers. One of them commanded 


26 


me to raise my hands above my head, 
which I promptly did. Then the other 
came forward and disarmed me. When 
this was done, he asked me what 
I was doing in that part of ; the country. I 
answered him by saying that I was looking 
for Quantral ,and that I wanted to enlist in 
his cause. “Will you take the guerilla 
oath?” I will. “All right, you stay with me 
until my partner comes back.” The other 
man lead my hrose away in the direction of 
camp. 

I could tell the direction of camp now, as 
it was getting dark, and bonfires were be¬ 
ginning to light up the thick wood. In a 
short time the man who went away return¬ 
ed and said everything is ready. They tied a 
handkerchief over my eyes, took me by the 
arm and led me the rest of the way. When 
near the camp, some one said: “Whither 
art thou traveling?” My conductor spoke 
for me: “I introduce to you a candidate for 
a place in the ranks of the dare devils of 
Northwest Missouri.” Will he take the 
oath?” “He will.” Take off his hoodwink, 
so that he may look on the camp of the 
great chieftain. When the handkerchief 
was removed, from my eyes, great God, 
what a sight met my gaze. There in the 
glow of the bonfires stood two lines of men, 
dressed in a vigilant committee uniform. 
They stood about fifteen feet apart, 
facing each other, with muskets at 
ground arms. You are now looking 


27 


on the followers of Quantral. Are you 
willing to approach the black flag, the 
standard of all true guerillas? I told him 
I was. We welcome you, my brother. I hope 
when your name is enrolled with ours, that 
you will be as willing to go to the assistance 
of a brother as they will be to go to you. He 
took me by the arm and led me down be¬ 
tween the two lines of men, and as we pass¬ 
ed down the line, wheri opposite a man, he 
would raise his musket from ground to a 
present. At the lower end of the line stood 
four men, one holding the black flag at half 
mast, two of the others placed the point of 
their swords near my heart, as the other 
with drawn sword gave mei the oath which 
afterwards was to govern my actions, which 
was as follows: 

Repeat after me, “I, in the presence of God, 
the devil and these men, disguised as Sa¬ 
tan’s family, do solemnly promise that I will 
protect the cause of the black flag, the em¬ 
blem of death, wherever unfolded. I will ask 
no quarters, nor give any, while fighting be¬ 
neath its folds. Whether in battle or out of 
battle, I will go to the assistance of a com¬ 
rade, knowing I would lose my life by so do¬ 
ing. I furthermore promise and swear that 
I will go to a brother in the right, or in the 
wrong; I will go with him when called upon; 
help him to work vengeance on those who 
have wronged him. I pledge my body, my 
soul, my honor, that I will never betray a 
brother, I will consider the welfare of Quan- 


28 


tral and his cause, and stand ready to go to 
my death for him or any of his followers. I 
will never betray, or tell a falsehood to a 
brother. If a brother is in danger, I will go 
to his relief, though the burning sulphur of 
death doth roll high between us, and pledge 
my body and all it contains, that I will go 
the length of a guerilla cable tow for a 
brother; that I will never reveal to any 
court or juror a brothers place in the broth¬ 
erhood. I furthermore promise to keep all 
the secrets made konwn to me by a brother; 
that we shall be one, in person, acts and 
knowledge; to all of which I bind myself un¬ 
der the penalty of having my body split in 
twain, each piece unimpated on the point 
of speers, and tossed to that Lake that 
burns forever, should I become so base and 
vile as to violate any part of my obligation.” 

When my oath was ended the swords were 
sheathed, Quantral stepped forward and 
took me by the hand. He was the one who 
gave me the oath. He said, “My brother, 
you are now an obligated guerilla. I wel¬ 
come you in our ranks. Henceforth you will 
be looked upon as our equal. Let all the 
followers of the black flag now come for¬ 
ward, and give this newly made guerilla 
their hand in token of friendship and broth¬ 
erly love.” 

The band, after giving me their hand, laid 
aside their disguise, placed their pickets, 
and were soon in the land of slumber. Next 
morning Quantral told me to go to Warren- 


29 


burg, a town on the M. P. Railroad, in John¬ 
son County, Missouri; learn the position of 
the Federals ,their numbers, and so on. 
That evening I rode into town, and found 
three hundred soldiers garrisoned there. 
They were talking of invading Jackson 
County, in search of Quantral. That night 
when I made my report, Quantral said we 
will show them that they don’t have to hunt 
for us. We will meet them on their own 
grounds. 

A few days later, Quantral and his two 
hundred followers rode down on the town 
Warrensburg. We stopped at a creek, to al¬ 
low our horses to drink, when suddenly out 
on the prairie, some two hundreds yards 
away appeared a bunch of Federal soldies. 
Quantral and his men charged down upon 
them, expecting them to run, but in this 
they were disappointed. They threw their 
men in a battle line, and awaited our com¬ 
ing. Greek had met Greek. Soon the bat¬ 
tle opened. Both sides fought like incarnate 
devils. For the next thirty minutes, the 
missels of death hurled through the air, and 
many men on both sides fell to rise no more. 
The bugle sounded a retreat. The Federals 
turned with a yell of defiance and rode off 
the battle field in the direction of town, in 
perfect order. 

Quantral called his men together, after 
consulting with a few of the leaders he 
said: “Boys, you have fought like veterans 
this morning, I praise your work. We are 


30 



A cave, used as a barn by Frank James, 
home near Wayton,, Arkansas 


at his 








not through with our work at this place. We 
can’t afford to run away and leave our fall¬ 
en brothers unavenged to devil our little 
army. I will lead one half and Jim Reed will 
lead the others. Now it is up to you, who 
you want to go with. All who want to go 
with me line up by my side. All that desire 
to go with Reed, line up by his side. They 
rode off in different directions. I went with 
Quantral, and we crossed the railroad on a 
bridge that spanned Muddy Creek. There 
we turned our course and rode opposite 
town, where a halt was made. Quantral 
pulled out his watch, and looked at the 
time of day; then he said boys, in ten min¬ 
utes we move on Warrenburg. Reed will 
come in from the North. Most of the sol¬ 
diers are out of town hunting for us, so we 
will have the town to ourselves. Don’t 
hurt a regular unless it is in self-defense, 
but give the Militia and home guards hades. 
On the spot. Time is up. Raise the black 
flag. With a yell we put spurs to our horses, 
dashed across the railroad into the public 
square, and as we rode into the public 
square we heard the war cry of Reed’s men 
down the street. The soldiers, as Quantral 
predicted, were scouring the woods west of 
town. We ate our dinner at the hotel and 
restaurants, mounted our horses, and rode 
out of town without firing a gun. We rode 
to Knobnoster; there we disbanded, broke 
into bunches, each going his way. 

I went to Boonsville, settled down a few 


days with one of my uncles. One morning I 
bade farewell to my folks and went aboard 
a river packet bound for St. Joe. A company 
of U. S. Soldiers were on the boat with me. 
They were on their way to Kansas City. 
They were a happy-go-lucky kind of fellows. 
Their bugler was one of the kindest hearted 
men I ever met. He would sit for hours on 
the hericane deck of the steamer and tell 
me of the battles fought each of the Missis¬ 
sippi river. I left the boat at Kansas City, 
and went out to the home of Sam Hutchin¬ 
son, an old acquaintance. There I learned 
that Quantral was gathering his band for a 
raid on Independence. 

About this time Quantral had begun los¬ 
ing his men in Missouri. The best citizens 
and the strongest sympathizers of the South 
lost confidence in him. He went by the name 
of “Butcher Quantral,” on account of his 
murderous disposition. He murdered, or 
caused murder to be committed where the 
cause did not demand it. After the raid at 
Lawrence the bandits, the guerillas, the 
butchers, the dare devil of Northwest 
Missouri was considered a menace to 
the world, and a detriment to society. 
At the destruction of the city on the 
Kaw, hundreds of innocent people, 
both men and women were shot down in 
cold blood. The only reason given for taking 
the lives of these inocent people were that 
they were Kansans, and lived in a town 
where mortal enemies were. This was 

01 

O-L 


Quantral. Cole, Bob and Jim Younger and 
others opposed doing injury to any but those 
who were concerned in the killing of Charlie 
Quantral: while Quantral, Jesse James, and 
most of the band favored striking the town 
from the North. Jesse’s vote carried. The 
city on the Kaw went down, and with it 
sank Quantral and his band of cut-throats. 
The old whelp and his litter of pups must 
leave Missouri. The way of the transgressor 
is hard. He must flee to the mountains of 
his nativity, hide in its rocky defiles until 
justice lays her icy hands upon him. 

Only a few days before Quantral was kill¬ 
ed, he and his band betrayed the confidence 
of eighty Federals, and wilfully murdered 
them. In all of Quantral’s wild life, this was 
the first cowardly act that I ever heard of 
him doing. For this act, Quantral paid the 
debt we must all pay. He died valliently, 
fighting for a cause which he knew to be 
wrong. There was no headboard or inscrip¬ 
tion to mark the sopt where this old veteran 
of many battles was laid. He sleeps today in 
an unkwon grave. Many of Quantral's early 
volunteers deserted him when he went east 
of the Mississippi river. I turned all my 
right and title as a Quantral follower over 
to him after the Centralia fight. 

I don’t believe in taking a man’s life 
merely because I have power over him. I 
believe in taking revenge only, when for¬ 
bearance ceases to be a virtue. 

Bill Anderson was a guerilla, as brave as 


32 


a lion. He always praised his followers, and 
admired the bravery of his enemies. He of¬ 
ten faced, alone, fifty men in open battle. 
Anderson went the pistol route with his 
boots on, at the battle of Independence. 

One day I was sitting on the street of a 
town known as Tipton, being sent there by 
Bill Campbell, a desperado from Texas, to 
learn the strength of the town. He told me 
he wanted to give the people of that town 
a shakeup for the way that they had treat¬ 
ed some of the Southern sympathizers. I 
had almost completed my work when I 
heard a controversy between two men close 
by; one of them a young man of about 
twenty-two summers said that I was on my 
way to Lookout Station to assist my partner 
in building a chimney. I had just boarded 
the train, when I was arrested by these sol¬ 
diers, charged with being a bushwhacker. 
Captain, it is a false charge. I never was in 
the brush. You are a damned liar, said the 
Captain, raising his gun. Say that again, 
and I will mash your head with this gun. 
You are a bushwhacker, and you know it. 
You will be courtmartialed. Then we will 
know whether you are a bushwhacker or 
not. 

This young man, with no evidence against 
him, only that! he had boarded a train that 
morning to go to his work, was condemned, 
shot and killled by a cowardly bunch of men 
claiming to belong to the State Militia. 
When I made my report to Campbell, he 


33 


sounded drum, and called his band together. 
To days later one hundred dare devils of 
Northwest Missouri filed out of the defiles 
of Jackson County, and set their faces to¬ 
ward the town of Tipton. When near the 
soldiers’ quarters, the war cry was given. 
We dashed around the barracks, shooting 
as we went. Thi c J dash was so unexpected 
to the Militia that when we took possession 
of the public square and the streets, they 
made a dash for the corn fields to hide, un¬ 
til the battle was over. I hunted for men 
wearing shoulder straps; I wanted a pop at 
the old scamp who caused the death of 
young Odeneal. 

After the battle was over, we went to the 
soldiers’ quarters, fed our horses, ate our 
dinner, spiked the cannons. Each filled a 
sack full of bacon, hardtack and coffee, and 
strapped it to his saddle, applied a match to 
the barracks, mounted and rode away to¬ 
wards the Missouri hills; leaving nineteen 
dead comrades behind us. As we rode away 
we could hear the sound of drums and bu¬ 
gles on a little hill across the fields, calling 
the men together. In our fight that day, no 
damage was done to the citizens of the 
town. 

As we rode along that evening I had an 
interview with Campbell, and he told me 
that I was the best spy in the company, and 
that he want me in a few days, to view out 
another town for us to attack. An hour af¬ 
ter night fall we reached a creek called 


34 


Monitaw; here we turned aside from the 
main road, rode up the creek a few hundred 
yards, and went into camp. Late in the 
night guards were placed, and the rest of 
us lay down to sleep. About four o’clock 
next morning—bang, bang, bang, broke the 
stillness of the morning. The soldiers had 
been notified of our presence in the country, 
and were hot upon our trail. The minnie 
balls from the enemy guns began to zip 
around us. We knew that it would be throw¬ 
ing our lives away to fight the hoards that 
were after us, so we dashed across the 
creek, and up the bank on the other side. 
There we stopped, and waited for the sol¬ 
diers to come up. Day was dappling in the 
east when the dark forms of the soldiers be¬ 
gan to appear, down in the darkness below. 
The devils have crossed the creek here yell¬ 
ed one of the soldiers. Let’s cross over and 
go after them. They began to cross the 
creek, and when about midway the stream 
Campbell yelled out '‘Give them hell, boys,” 
and we poured volley after volley of red hot 
pills from our muskets and pistols in the di¬ 
rection of the line of men who were cross¬ 
ing the creek. Again, the bullets began to 
zip around us, and now and then a comrade 
would cry out “I am shot” or “I am dying.” 
Again the voice of Campbell rang out on 
the morning air*. “It’s getting too hot here, 
let’s be going.” 

We rode quick and fast, in order to get 
away from that hot place. Lucky for us, 

35 


our horses were of the very best, and had 
had a good night’s rest. I was in a good 
condition to travel. Our route led us through 
a little town called Pisga, in Cooper County. 
There our little bunch suffered defeat. We 
were reduced to so few in number and 
horses, that we decided that it would be 
best to scatter in small bunches, as this 
would confuse the soldiers so that they 
could not trail us. By so doing, twenty of 
the old guerilla gang were able to get back 
to our old cave in Jackson county. 

Now as I sit with swolen feet, the years 
past and gone are fresh in my memory. A 
few years ago I was retracing lines for an 
Eastern land company. Three men from 
Leslie were with me. They carried the best 
of pistols. Every day they would spend an 
hour or more shooting at a target placed on 
a beech tree. I was asked to shoot. I told 
them I knew nothing about pistols. They 
urged me to shoot, so once 1 took one of the 
pistols, and fired without looking at the tar¬ 
get, missing it only a few inches. They said 
this man is not what he claims to be. 

It was not long after I joined Quantral, 
until my brother joined and took the terri¬ 
ble oath ,the emblem of the black flag and 
death. Reader, you will read of many hot 
battles which I have fought, but it will be 
after I have passed from life into the great 
beyond. I have read of my death in news¬ 
papers. Oh, how people can get mistaken. 
I have read my own history, the guess work 

36 


of people. Of course the history of many 
battles in which I took part, narrated in 
these books, are true, but little did the peo¬ 
ple know, or think, that the man of whom 
the history was written was quietly living in 
their neighborhood, an old farmer, down 
and out. 

I have sat many a time and told about the 
James boys, and the Younger boys, and 
others, of the band. Those to whom I was 
talking had no, idea that they were talking 
to Frank James, himself. And right here I 
will halt, to say that on the third day of Sep¬ 
tember we completed our plans for robbing 
Northfield bank. The people did not know 
about the plans set. One bright Thursday 
morning, little dreaming what that day was 
to bring forth, in their quiet plodding little 
community, just about noon three strangers 
came riding on horseback, from the North, 
went over and dined on the west side of the 
Cannon river, which flows through the vil¬ 
lage. While eating our diner we started the 
subject about the election* These things 
were freely conversed afterwards. No 
special interest was taken, however. We 
were just strangers passing through the vil¬ 
lage. The bank was in the chief block, on 
the public square. After eating our dinner, 
the three strangers rode over to the bank. 
It proved afterwards to be myself, Jesse 
James and Cole Younger. We tied up our 
horses in front of the bank, and after a brief 
talk, which seemed to be important, we en- 

37 


tered the bank. About this time three fierce 
looking men came riding over the East 
bridge, yelling like demons, shooting their 
revolvers in every direction. In the mean 
time, the terrible tragedy was going on at 
the bank. The three bandits jumped over 
the counter. I drew my knife at the throat 
of Mr. J. L. Haywood, the cashier of the 
bank, demanding that he open the safe. I 
will do no such thing said the brave cashier. 
Open it, said Jesse, or you die like a dog. I 
will do my duty, said the cashier. Then die, 
said Jesse James. Jesse James never repeat¬ 
ed his word the second time. The cashier 
fell, dead. About that time Cole Younger 
ran into contact with Mr. E. A. Bunker, the 
assitant cashier. Come and open this safe 
door, or you’ll see what your luck will be. 
He claimed that he did not know' the com¬ 
bination, and without another word, made 
a dash and made his get-a-way, by the back 
door. As he ran, he got shot through the 
shoulder. The clerk escaped without injury. 
By that time, the town was in confusion. 
Charlie Pitts, a great bandit and as brave a 
man as ever lived, from Texas—he w r as as 
brave as were the James boys—he was 
among the three who came yelling and 
shooting in the towm. A man from a window 
shot him. He threw up his hands and cried: 
“By God, boys, I am done for,” and in the 
agony of death, he fell dead on the spot. 

We went our way west, to the Indian Ter¬ 
ritory, there we stayed a while in peace. 

38 


Well do I remember the year we returned 
from the Indian Territory. Quanrtal was 
recruiting his band together, fixing for an¬ 
other battle. Little did we know, the morn¬ 
ing we rode down Muddy Creek, in Johnson 
County, Mo., that before many hours the 
sleeping thunder lying so silent among the 
vine-clad hills, would be awakening, and its 
vibrations roll from valley to valley. The 
dare devil, Bill Anderson and his one hun¬ 
dred followers are out on a raid, hunting 
for trouble. I was one of the number. We 
rode down to the M. P. Railroad, tore up the 
track, set fire to the ricks of cord wood, and 
piles of ties. We knew that the smoke from 
the burning debris in that part of the coun¬ 
try would attract a bunch of soldiers, garri¬ 
soned down at Knobnoster. Boys, I think 
this smoke is sufficient to bring the bees to 
the bait, now we will ride out on the prai¬ 
rie. I want an open country to fight in, 
said Anderson. 

We rode out to a Prairie Billow, a few 
hundred yards from the track. We formed 
a line of battle, and awaited for comig of 
the soldiers, whom we knew would come. 
When they saw the smoke, soon a line of 
men was seen coming up the state road. 
The negro-loving devils are coming, said 
Bill Anderson. Their numbers about equal 
ours, give them a cheer of welcome. - A 
rousing yell broke the stillness, and floated 
off on the morning breeze. A yell of de¬ 
fiance as loud as ours, went up from a hun- 


39 


dred throats down the road. Anderson rode 
down in front of his men saving: “Boys, 
keep a steady nerve, they will charge us as 
they get through. Men, every one, use 
judgment, don’t pull a trigger until you have 
a bead on a man. Kill the leader if you can. 
Reserve your fire until they make a move to 
shoot. You get in the first shot. We must 
scatter our red hot pills among them first. 
When your muskets are empty throw them 
down. Charge and finish the fight with pis¬ 
tols and sabers. At the same time remem¬ 
ber the many bloody battles fought in Kan¬ 
sas over a cause we are defending.” 

They are coming in bushwhacker style, 
they came with a dash. They were drawing 
nearer and nearer to us. When only a small 
strip of land lay between us, they raised 
their guns to shoot. The noise of our guns 
went out as one report. Our concussion, 
mingled with the report of the enemy, caus¬ 
ed the mountain and low hills to send back 
but a single echo. The air was filled with 
yells of fury. The vibrations accumulated 
and were rolled from billow to billow, for 
miles around. Both sides lost about thirty 
men in the first volley. The lines dash to¬ 
gether, pass, dealing death to each other. 
They whirl and charge at each other again. 
In the second charge, the captain of the 
Federals fell from his horse. The death of 
their leader dishearted the Federals. They 
knew that they were defeatd, with no one 
to give orders. Defeat meant a panic. From 

40 


the death of the leader, the fighting hardly 
deserved to be called a battle. As the thin 
line without a leader could not long with¬ 
stand the mad attack of the guerillas. The 
soldiers were mowed dowm with sabers. 
Above the noise of the battle could be heard 
the voice of Bill Anderson, saying “We have 
got them now, boys, give them hell, have no 
limit. Exterminate the followers of Jim 
Lane’s hellish cause.” The soldiers saw 
that further resistance would be useless, 
made a wide dash for liberty. A few of them 
made their escape from the vengeance of 
the guerillas. 

The battle up to the leader, a braver man 
never trod Kansas soil than the one who 
lost his life that fateful morning, fighting 
valliently for a cause he believed to be right. 
It looked like a war of extermination. They 
fought like incarnate devils. I looked over 
the battle field, where over one hundred 
men, dead or dying, dotted the plain. Fifty 
of our men lay sleeping the sleep of the 
dead with their enemies. 

Sixty years or more have rolled back into 
the dark past since this battle on Muddy 
was fought, but my mind today spans the 
chasm and brings to my memory what hap¬ 
pened that day. Again I can hear the yells 
of those engaged in the battle, the rattle of 
muskets, the groans of the wonded and dy¬ 
ing. Again I see the dead llying in grim 
guile, scattered here and there over the 
grassy plain. Many battles have been fought 


41 


in Kansas between the opposing parties ov¬ 
er the negro question, but in none of them 
were so many killed in so short a time, than 

were killed in the battle on Muddy. On Mud- 
dv, the battle lasted about five minutes and 
the slaughter about ten minutes. Two hun¬ 
dred men were left on the battle field. No 
wonder Kansas was called bleeding Kansas. 

Jim Lane, at deperado, and one of the 
leaders of the abolishionist party, was hated 
above all other men in Kansas by the seces¬ 
sionist party. He would go from place to 
place, burn, rob and destroy property be¬ 
longing to innocent people. When making 
raids he always had a strong body-guard 
around him. He was very careful to avoid 
a meeting with Quantral, Anderson or 
Campbell. When I was a boy I was taught 
to hate a nasty abolishionist speaker. I of¬ 
ten went to town to hear them yelp about 
Kansas and the negro. Many battles were 
fought at these gatherings. Let Kansas be 
a free state and protect all runaway ne¬ 
groes that come within her borders, was 
the hue and cry of these anti-slave bragarts. 

One of my uncles, Jake Hale, living in 
Missouri, close to the Kansas line, owned 
about fifty negroes. He had paid cash for 
the most of them. When the war cry sound¬ 
ed throughout our land, the negroes shall be 
free, my uncle shouldered his gun, at the 
age of sixty, and fought to the end of the 
war, for property which he had bought. 

I have heard my uncle say he did not 


42 


blame the North for wanting to free the ne¬ 
groes, but he did blame them for not paying 
back a part of the money he had paid for 
them. This hatred that existed between the 
Missourians and the Kansans has abated. 
The swelling plains and the billowed prai¬ 
ries are in the hands of industry. Fields of 
wheat meet our gaze. A call is made every 
year for harvest hands to help cut the wheat 
from the ground that once dripped with 
blood. Many farmers in Kansas and North¬ 
west Missouri guide their plows over ground 
where some poor mortal breathed his last, 
for the possession of land that he never had 
the pleasure to possess. It was consid¬ 
ered a thing not worth telling just after the 
Civil War, to plow up bones of men who died 
in battle. 

The State road running from Jefferson 
City, capital of Missouri, to Kansas City, ran 
through one corner of my father’s home¬ 
stead. When I'was aboy, I would go out to 
this road nearly every day, and watch for 
the long lines of prairie schooners passing 
their way toward the setting sun. On many 
of these sheets that covered these prairie 
schooners was printed “Kansas or bust. In 
those days the great men of our government 
wanted the eastern and western wave of 
our civilization to meet. The western ter¬ 
ritories must be settled, hence eminent 
speakers were sent to the leading cities in 
the east, giving a flaming account of the 
land lying east and west of the Rocky Moun¬ 
tains. 


43 


CHAPTER VI. 


Time, 4:00 o’clock, July, 1866. Place. 
Grand River, Henry County, Missouri; the 
mail train running on the Missouri Pacific 
Railroad had been robbed, a few days before 
this story opens, and the robbers trailed to 
one of the wide bottoms on Grand River, 
near the main road leading from Pleasant 
Hill, Missouri to Batesville, Arkansas. Offi¬ 
cers and detectives from Pleasant Hill, Se- 
dalia, Warrensburg and Holden, were hot 
on the trail, and were forming a cordon 
around the camp of the robbers. The roll 
was raising a shout that they had killed and 
pretended to be ignorant of their being sur¬ 
rounded. Cole Younger, the leader of the 
robbers, after coming in from a tour of in¬ 
spection, said, “Boys, tough times ahead. 
Officers as thick as grass hoppers in Kan¬ 
sas. We must break camp and pull our 
freight for a better country. We cannot stay 
here. Boys, tighten your girdle, we have 
some hot work before us, that Iowa devil is 
as brave as a lion, and he has as many men 
at his command as I have. I don’t know 
their fighting qualities, but I guess they are 
fighters, or Capt. Todd would not be leading 
them. When we meet in battle some of us 
will go down, but while they are putting us 
down, let’s see how many of them we can 
put out of commission. They are coming 
now, hold a steady nerve. Don’t move out 
of line until they tap that rise. When they 

44 


reach that ridge, go for them. Be sure to 
kill Todd if you can. If we can get Todd out 
of the way the battle is ours.” These words 
were spoken by Bill Anderson, just before 
the Centralia fight. 

We rode into town early that morning, 
stopped the train, tore up the rairoad track, 
set fire to the ties, piled along the track, 
burned the ricks of wood, and the smoke 
drew the attention of the people for miles 
around. We knew they would be down up¬ 
on us, hence we rode out on the prairie a 
few hundred yards from town to await their 
coming. We had been there but a short time 
when Todd and his one hundred followers 
rode into town. We gave a yell of defiance. 
Our challenge was answered. Todd threw 
his men into line and dashed down towards 
us. When they reached the ridge spoken 
of, we poured a volley into their ranks. Both 
sides fired about the same time, and several 
men fell from their horses. On they came. 
We met them. Both sides were fighting 
with pistols. Now the wounded, the dead, the 
dying, lay thick upon the ground. The lines 
passed each other, they whirled and met 
again. In the second charge Capt. Todd fell 
from his horse; a bullet from Jesse James’ 
pistol had pierced his heart. The tide of 
the battle changed when the Federals saw 
their leader fall. They became dishearten¬ 
ed, and scattered in every direction. 

Above the din of battle, Anderson’s voice 
could be heard, “Go for them boys, give 

45 


them hell, we’ve got them now.” We won 
the battle, got back to camp, lost about 
thirty-five men in that fight. 

I sit for days, studying about days passed 
and gone. It seems that the James boys 
were the most lucky men in the world. Well 
do I remember Pinkerton and his men try¬ 
ing to arrest me and my brother. One day 
two detectives met on the street; one said to 
the other man as he moved off down the 
street, “We will see them chained, hand¬ 
cuffed, behind prison bars, then the old 
stain will be wiped away from the good peo¬ 
ple of North Missouri.” Little did these 
want-to-be brave detectives know the 
young man standing close by with spy¬ 
glasses, scanning objects on the distant 
prairie was one of the culprits of their con¬ 
versation. Ignorance is a virtue that natur¬ 
ally belonged to the James boys. 

CHAPTER VII. ' 

For thirty-eight years I have carried 
compass and staff, as surveyor of Newton 
County, Arkansas. I have traced many lines 
over hills and mountains, through gorges, 
along winding streams, in and out of this 
County. Thirty-eight years ago I felt bouy- 
ant and full of life. Now, I am old, and al¬ 
most helpless. I know that I am in the sun¬ 
set of life. The evening is far advanced, 
and when that all devouring cycle of time 
clips the brittle thread of life, and I am 
plunged into that vale of the shadow of 
death, in that state of darkness that lies be- 


46 



A large 
of 


boulder, 15 feet high, in front of the cabin 
Frank James, near Wayton, Arkansas 


47 






tween this life and the life to come, sleeping 
off the corruption of the body, will that de¬ 
sire to take revenge be left in the grave, so 
that when the Angels of Heaven bid me rise 
from the tomb, a fit subject for the land 
from whose bounds no traveler returns, I 
want to say right here as I sit and stduy my 
awful condition, that there are crimes laid 
to the James boys that they never commit¬ 
ted. Although they have been the most dar¬ 
ing men that ever trod the soil of Missouri, 
if they had been let alone in their young 
days, they wouldl have made different men. 
But they were driven to live the life they liv¬ 
ed. As I have said before, I never was of a 
bad disposition. I always tried to use judg¬ 
ment. My brother, “Bad Nelse,” that was 
the name he went by, was a bad man. When 
imposed upon, he had no fear of man or 
beast. Kill was his aim. 

I lay on my cot watching the departing 
days, as darkness comes. A countless num¬ 
ber of little friends look down upon me as I 
lie on the porch and listen to the songs of 
the birds. Great God, is it possible that I 
again hear the notes of the Mocking bird, 
singing a requiem for my dead mother from 
the hawthorne tree, near the city of the dead 
where my mother sleeps? Cut myself loose 
from every tie, the spirit that drove was a 
dogged and oath-bound thing. I have felt 
that fire burning around the w r andering 
boy’s home. I am tempest-tossed, on a 
stormy sea. The sun has gone to rest be- 


48 


hind the western hills. The last sun-beam 
withdrawn from this old strange world,, the 
day has departed from my cot. I can hear 
the name of Mother, as if wafted through 
the air. 

Another beautiful day is here. With 
swolen feet, I sit for hours with bowed 
head, listening to the notes of song birds, af¬ 
ter a feeling of loneliness steals over me. 
My youths days are behind me. The rush 
of years beats down my strength. I am a 
broken reed, floating on the current of time. 
The old earth with its beauties are slipping 
further from me. I am on the last stage of 
human life. My days are numbesred, and 
the summons will come. 

I watch the sun of day, as it steps up from 
behind the eastern hills and begins its 
course across the Heavens, makes me think 
of my life, away from my child-home. Per¬ 
haps that cloud I see fleeting across the sky 
has cast a dark shadow upon the grave of 
Mother. That buzzard, a mere speck in the 
sky, performing wide circles with out¬ 
stretched wings may have from a dizzy 
height looked down on the grave of my best 
friend. When I close my eyes a new land¬ 
scape appears. Before my vision I am 
standing on the misty mountain of my 
childhood home looking down on a broad 
valley, a wandering stream murmurs 
through the grove. The sound of the woods 
in my childhood home is lovely in my ear. 
I see the flowers of the mountains growing 


49 


and shaking their heads to the passing 
boats, as they float past my old home. 

I am not only sick in body, I am sick in 
mind. I want to stand on the old home¬ 
stead as in the days of yore, and watch the 
harrow shaped lines of geese passing over¬ 
head, making their way to the Southland. 
A wild fancy takes possession of me. Listen, 
again I hear the notes, honk, honk, honk; 
coming from a branch, of wild geese stand¬ 
ing on the sand bar out in the middle of the 
river directly in front of Mama’s door. Chub, 
chub, chub, a noise above the swish of wa¬ 
ter lapping the river banks. What is it? 
It‘s a river boat, churning her way up the 
river on a trip to some trading post. 

As I sit alone looking over the landscape 
that stretches out before me, fields, gar¬ 
dens, gorges and mountains, meet my gaze| 
When I close my eyes, the scene changes as 
I look upon my new scenes. I am living, my 
life-giving blood courses its way through 
my veins. My mind is transferred to a high 
promontory on the billowed plains of) Okla¬ 
homa again. Again he is looking down up¬ 
on objects familiar to him. A grand valley, 
a small stream of rippling and sparkling wa¬ 
ter fringed with cottonwood trees courses 
its way through the open country. Hun¬ 
dreds of Indians are congregating on the 
plains making preparations for the great 
contest between the Otacs and the Catabies. 
Thousands of dollars is bet on the game. Fif¬ 
ty britch-clothed savages stand around, ex- 

50 


posing musles of strength and endurance, 
with spoon-shaped ball sticks in their 
hands. On each face is delineated a deter¬ 
mination to win or die. The stake is set, the 
great umpires chosen. All is ready for the 
toss. The squaws are making coffee for 
their friends to drink. The curtain falls, but 
rises again. All is commotion down in the 
valley. A wild scene appears upon the 
screen. Indian warriors are riding in circles, 
the worst looking! bunch I ever saw. Most 
of the squaws were barefooted. One of the 
bucks had no shoes. A few of them had on 
calico pants and shirts. They belonged to 
the backwoods class of Indians, and look¬ 
ed to be a hundred years behind the times. 
I knew the Indians ways well, and never had 
any trouble with them; they seemed like rel¬ 
atives to me. I spent fifteen years with 
them. However, I will go back to my sub¬ 
ject. 


51 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A short time after the war, my brother and 
I, to avoid meeting with any one who would 
be likely to give us trouble, moved to John¬ 
son county, Missouri, near the town of Hol¬ 
den. We were living under an assumed 
name. A reward of $10,000.00 was offered 
for our apprehension for shooting a man in 
self-defense. My brother peddled goods, 
while I bought a half interest in a coal mine 
from a man by the named of Green. We 
worked the mine) together, and did a thriv¬ 
ing business. Green’s wife was real pretty, 
and a good woman, but Green did not treat 
her right. Every time he went to town he 
would visit houses where lewed women liv¬ 
ed, and I knew that sooner or later that 
trouble would rise between them. I told 
Green that he had a good woman, and she 
was too good for him, and unless he quit the 
way he was doing, he would sooner or later 
find himself without a woman. He said I 
don’t give a damn, and any time she wants 
to quit me the way is open. I am not going 
to live under a petty coat government. One 
Saturday Green and I went to Holden, to 
make a deal with the M. P. Railroad about 
some coal. Late ill the evening Green told 
me that he was not going home that night, 
he said he had made arrangements to stay 
with his girl that night. I tried to persuade 
him to go back home with me. No, he must 
stay with his girl. I went home, and it was 


52 


dark when I got there. Rachel didn’t seem 
to be surprised at Green not coming back 
with me. After the supper dishes were put 
away Rachel came out upon the porch 
where I was sitting and took a seat by me. 
She turned to me and said, Ed, I am going 
to ask you a question, and I believe that you 
will answer me truthfully. I believe that you 
are a friend, and wish me well. I told her 
that if I answered her at all it would be the 
truth. Isn’t Holden full of lewd women? I 
told her that the last time Holden’s lewd¬ 
ness was measured it was about half full. 
She laughed, and said did you help measure 
it? I informed her that I had never had my 
hands on a public women in my life, and if 
I kept my senses, U never would. She said 
bravo for that determination. Now, I want 
to know if my old man associates with this 
class of people. If he does, you know it, and 
if you are a friend of mine you will tell me, 
so come across, Ed. 

I said, Rachel, I am a friend to you, but I 
do not like to say anything between man 
and wife that would cause trouble. She in¬ 
formed me that it would cause me no 
trouble. Long before I bought in with him, 
she said, he had acted at times like he didn’t 
like her. I am satisfied that he is neglecting 
me. I once thought that I loved him. I have 
been true to him, so tell me that I am right 
in believing as I do about him. Rachel, you 
are right, I answered, Green is not true to 
you. Right now he is embraced in the arms 


53 


of a woman that is not half as pretty as you 
are. It is a shame for you to throw your 
charms away on as worthless a being as 
Green is. You can tell him that I said so if 
you like. I have nothing to take back. 

Next morning when Green came home, 
he seemed all down and out. He said I have 
a notion to take Rachel over into Kansas if 
I can sell my interest in the coal mine. I 
believe that I can do better there, Ed. Don’t 
you want to own all the mine? Rachel 
started to say something, but I shook my 
head at her, and she walked away. It did 
not take Green and I long to trade. I bought 
the mine and everything that he owned. 

After I paid him, he went in the house to 
tell Rachel about the trade. Rachel told 
him to go out to Kansas and rent a place to 
go to, and then come back after her. I’ll do 
no such a thing, said he. When I go, you 
will go. I am not going to leave you and Ed 
here together. You would have too good a 
time. I think that you care more for him 
than for me. I’ll go over and hire Jim Reed, 
Ed’s brother, to take us to Kansas. 

While he was gone to my brother’s I told 
Rachel to go along with him to Kansas, and 
if he did not treat her better, if she would 
write me, I would come after her and carry 
her where Green would never hear from her 
again. Next morning they started for 
Kansas. I was left alone. All day I 
worked alone, faithfully, in the mine, 
trying to work off my lonesome feel- 


54 


ing.. That night an awful lonesome feel¬ 
ing took possession of me, as my best friend 
was gone. The next morning I went over 
to the home of a neighbor, and sold him all 
my interest in Johnson county. 


CHAPTER IX. 


After selling out my mining interests, I 
went to Marionville, Missouri. There 
I was introduced to a girl, Nan Mor¬ 
ris, the worst cheat and fraud that I ever 
knew. I don’t like to talk about the other 
sex, but she was anybody’s dog that would 
hunt with her. She was pretty to a finish, 
glib of tongue. She was, according to ap¬ 
pearance, the very girl that I wanted to 
keep company with. I confided too much of 
my past life to her. Her uncle was deputy 
sheriff of Lawrence at the time. She told 
all she knew about me, and he wrote to 
several postoffices in Missouri. I was pass¬ 
ing as Frank Vaughn. 

One Sunday evening Jim Hickman’s wife 
came over to John Morris’ and said they had 
made up a crowd to arrest me. Hickman’s 
wife told me that they were going to ar¬ 
rest me, so I saddled my pony and rode 
away for a more convenient climate. I went 
to Jacksonport, a levied town in the swamps 
of the Black and White rivers, and clerked 
in a store for Bill Stean and John Huddle¬ 
ston. While there I got a letter from Jim 
Hickman’s wife, telling me that Nan Mor¬ 
ris, my Lawrence county sweetheart had a 
boy and she called his name Frank Vaughn, 
after me, his daddy. The letter also stated 
that Nan said that she was grieving herself 
to death about me, and shed enough tears 
every night to wet her bed. In answer I 


56 


wrote for her to consult a physician, that it 
looked to me like a bad case of bed-wetting, 
and something ought to be done, to save 
washing the bed quilts and that the poor lit¬ 
tle baby was wrongly named. 

I spent the summer at Jacksonport. In 
the fall I went to Osage City, Mo., twelve 
miles south of Jefferson City, the capital of 
Missouri. Here I met with John Odle, a 
railroad tie contractor, and an old acquaint- 
- ance, and he hired me to pilot his boat from 
Osage City to Warsaw. Pilot work didn’t 
suit me, and I soon turned the job over to 
another man. 

I began rambling again, and went to a 
little town called Pisga, in Cooper County, 
Missouri. Here I met with old acquaintances, 
the most of whom had belonged to Quan- 
tral’s outfit of toughs. I was considered the 
bad man of the country. One day at a gath¬ 
ering at Pisga they fell out, and a shoot¬ 
ing scrape followed, and several were kill¬ 
ed George Defenbald, an onld comrade of 
mine was killed, and his brother Hugh was 
wounded. I was mixed up in this racket, 
and had to leave. I traveled through Ark¬ 
ansas to Fulton, in Hempstead county, and 
while there I stayed with a man named 
Duncan. I had an enjoyable time, hunting, 
fishing, and sparking Duncan’s daughter, 
notwithstanding the thrill of talking to a 
beautiful girl, I had many drawbacks. There 
were five hundred mosquitoes to every 
square foot, and every time we began a con- 

57 


versation, a mosquito would stop it by nip¬ 
ping me on the back or in the shortribs. 

We did most of our sparking on the walk. 
Old man Duncan died while I was* staying 
with him. I stood over him when he died. 
While he was living no one paid any atten¬ 
tion to my sparking the girl. We took long 
walks to Almond orchard after night, or 
visited the grave of her two sisters down on 
the hillside. But after the old man passed 
away Mrs. Duncan told me that her girl and 
I would have to stop our midnight strolls, 
and that I must get me another place to 
stay. This suited me exactly, and I left the 
land of mud and mosquitoes, and went to 
Kimichia Valley, Choctaw Nation. 

In these days my fashion for sparking 
pretty women was above par; so I soon fell 
in love with an Indian girl, Nancy Dukes, a 
niece of Buddie Dukes, the Governor of the 
Choctaw Nation. She was graduated at 
Washington, D. C. I loved her and the day 
was set for our wedding, but before the day 
for the wedding came on, we both took 
sick. It was a hot day. We were lying*- on 
a pallet spread down on the floor, as she 
said to me, How do you feel? In answer I 
told her that I felt bad. How do you feel, 
Nancy, I asked her. Bad, bad, bad, she said, 
I am you girl ain’t I, she said. I told her 
she was. Her aunt heard us talking and 
stepped to he pallet to give her some tea, 
and she was dead. Her death robbed me 
of the best friend that I ever had. I look- 


58 


ed upon my darling Nancy as a part of my¬ 
self lying in the graveyard at Wadeville. 

During my career in life, I have met with 
only two women that I really loved. One 
was Nancy, my Indian girl, and the other, 
no one will ever know. 

When I got well, Judge Cornelius, of 
Hartford, Sebastian county, Arkansas, em¬ 
ployed me to sell goods for him. A stock 
of goods amounting to $1000.00 was 
brought to Wadeville, on the Kimichie. A 
short time after the goods were sent to me, 
at Wadeville, the Judge came out to stay a 
while with me. He became dissatisfied, 
sold the goods to me and went back to 
Hartford. I being a non-citizen of the 
Indian country, could not sell goods without 
paying a license, or sell in the name of an 
Indian, so I turned my goods over to Charlie 
Dukes, a brother of Governor Dukes, to sell 
for me. That summer I went to Tuskaho- 
ma, and took charge of a store for Jack 
Belt, stayed there for a while. 

While I was in the Indian Territory 
among the Indians, I had a good time with 
the Indian girls. It was while I was clerk¬ 
ing for Bill Brewer, that I met with Mattie, 
my Indian sweetheart. I say, did you ever 
have an Indian sweetheart? If you haven’t, 
you have missed half you life. I had an 
Indian sweetheart once; it was while I was 
selling goods at Tuskahoma. Her name was 
Mattie Anderson, and she was pretty to a 
finish, and as neat and trim made girl as 

59 


I ever saw. Hre mother was a Chickasaw 
Indian and her father was a Choctaw of 
the tubby class. Bond hated white people, 
and did not want them to come into his 
territory for wives. Mrs. Bond thought her 
nation fifty years behind time, because it 
was governed by Tubby. She said she 
wanted her girl to marry a white man. 

One day Mattie was sent to my store, and 
she stayed longer than her father thought 
she ought to have stayed, and for this act he 
whipped her unmercifully, and told her if 
she went to the store again without some 
of the family with her he would kill her. 
The next day Mattie’s mother came to the 
store and told me how cruel Bond had treat¬ 
ed Mattie, and said she believed that Bond 
would kill her before he would see her a 
white man’s wife. I told Mattie’s mother 
that I loved her girl, and would take her 
out of Bond’s power if she would allow her 
to stay at the store with me and do my 
cooking, as I was batching at that time. 
She said, Mattie can do as she likes. If 
she wants to keep house for you I have 
no objections; I believe you will take care 
of her. 

Mattie came that evening and took up 
residence at the store. Bond got mad at 
his wife because she was willing for Mattie 
to live with me, left her and went into the 
Osage country. Swinnie Makinnie, another 
tubbie, got mad and went to the Judge and 
reported Mattie. To ease him the Judge 

60 


set a day for the trial, the summons being 
given to a light horseman to serve. Mattie 
did not attend the trial, and through the 
influence of Makinnie, the prosecutor, Mat- 
tie was found guilty, and a penalty of twen- 
five lashes placed upon her. John Durant, 
a light horseman, was ordered by the court 
to do the whipping. There was a big crowd 
of Indians at the store when Durant came 
to execute the orders of the court. I told 
Mattie to stay in the store and not go out 
when Durant ordered. 

When Durant came, he ordered her to 
go with him to the place selected to whip 
her. Mattie told him that she had not vio¬ 
lated the Indian laws, that she was only 
sixteen years old and belonged to her moth¬ 
er. Her mother, she said, hired me to come 
here and cook for this man for my board 
and clothes. My life was a terror to me 
when I lived at home with my step-father, 
and I carry marks today that my step daddy 
put on me because I stayed longer at this 
store than he thought I should, and when 
mother tells me to come home I will go, as 
I belong to her. I am an Anderson, and look 
to them for protection. The Andersons 
were the leading people of that country, 
and several of them were there. When Mat- 
tie had finished speaking, and had gone in 
the kitchen, Durant asked me what I 
thought of it, and I told him that I respect¬ 
ed all officers and the laws of their country, 
that I was not going to interfere with any 

61 


officer of the nation, or try to keep them 
from discharging their duty. 

Several Indians stepped up to hear our 
conversation, Makinnie being among them. 
I can only say to you that Jack Belt, a non¬ 
citizen has rented this house from Makin¬ 
nie there, and has had it in his possession for 
some time. It’s his, and he has full control 
of it until the time he has it rented for ex¬ 
pires. When Jack Belt left here he turned 
this store over to me. You know it is a vio¬ 
lation for an Indian to inrtude upon the 
rights of a non-citizen, and I forbid you or 
anyone else forcing Mattie away from this 
house. Mattie has done no harm, and the 
cruel treatment of her step-daddy had caus¬ 
ed her to be there, and I was going to pro¬ 
tect her in the right. 

When I had finished speaking, Makinnie 
said it’s your duty as an officer to go into 
the cook room and drag Mattie out, and 
whip her, as the court has ordered. Belt 
and this man are not natives of our country. 
They have no right to say what we must 
do. Durant asked me if I had a permit, 
and I informed him that I had. He answer¬ 
ed that that permit gives you a right to 
live here and protect your property while 
here. I am not going to drag her out of 
your house or wihp her. I am going to the 
Judge and ask him to rescind his decision 
in Mattie's case until better evidence can be 
produced. A grunt of satisfaction came 
from nearly all the Indians. This made 


62 


'*»■*** 



A son of Frank James, a rural mail carrier, at 
Wayton, Arkansas 


Wnmii 

















A son of Frank James, a rural mail carrier, at 
Wayton, Arkansas 















Makinnie so mad that he stepped out of the 
house, mounted his pony, and rode away, 
and then we had no more trouble. 

About two weeks before I left Tuskaho- 
ma, a school teacher from Iowa came to the 
store and asked me if I were going to marry 
Mattie. She had gone home a few days be¬ 
fore. He had seen her and had a talk with 
her. I asked him why he asked that question, 
and he said I am seeking a right in this terri¬ 
tory; I have traveled over the most of it, and 
Mattie is the only girl that I want. I have 
talked with her about it, and she said for 
me to see and ask you what she must do 
about it. If you want her I can’t get her, 
but if you will tell her that you don’t want 
her, I believe that I can get her, and she 
will marry me. I will say right here that I 
did the most foolish thing that I ever did in 
my life. I gave up the truest friend I ever 
had. Many times I have regretted allowing 
her to pass into the hands of anotner man. 

To please Mattie, I accepted the position 
as waiter at her wedding. She said publicly 
that she was going to marry the Iowa man, 
but she liked me best. The night of the 
wedding was the last time I saw her, but I 
have long since heard that they are im¬ 
mensely rich, so I leave my Indian sweet¬ 
heart. 



CHAPTER X 


A beautiful day was waning, the sun was 
slowly sinking in the west, casting a golden 
glow over the broad stretches of the prairie 
waste that lay out before me. On the 
north shaded by venerable elms whose 
branches swept tenderly down almost 
touching the mound which lies within 
their shadows. Back of this lay the rude re¬ 
mains of an Indian village. It is now rank 
with vegetation, the growth of many years. 
It was once the town of the Red Man. 

I stood there on the top of a billowed waste 
looking over the city of the dead till twilight 
settled down upon the scene. I am stan¬ 
ding on the once prosperous acres of an 
Indian Reservation. Where are the original 
owners? Everything is so silent, no bark 
canoes float upon the waters of the trout 
streams, no camp fires light up the remains 
of a destroyed village. The deer, the tur¬ 
key, the bear, the buffalo have disappeared 
from the broad wastes of meadow lands 
that spread out on, every hand, the unshod 
pony, the prairie dog, the diamond rattle 
snake, and an occasional wolf, are here to 
keep company with the sleeping dead. The 
sighing of the wind through the tree tops 
and my uncany and ghostly surroundings 
held me spellbound. I had no desire to re¬ 
turn to camp till I learned more about the 
history of these wronged and forgotten peo¬ 
ple. The Great Spirit, the Father of Justice, 

64 


the Indian’s God, should shake the flesh¬ 
less and crumbling bones of these dead in¬ 
mates of those who claimed to be building 
up civilization. Could the remains of the 
Council Chamber, standing so close to the 
city of the dead speak it would tell you that 
all the land and everything that grew upon 
it, was deeded to the Indians by our law 
makers at Washington, and the Indians, by 
observing the tribal laws enacted by the 
great men of the tribe, they built up a land. 
Plenty of game of all kinds roamed over 
the grass-covered plains, the waters abund¬ 
ant in fish, the Indians were satisfied. 

In the year 1859 the railroad syndicates 
began to build the M. P. Railroad across the 
Rockies, from the Atlantic to the Pacific. 
With the railroads came the bandtis of the 
plains. Then the village of Culla Chaha 
was built on the road leading from Fort 
Smith to the Kimiche country. It was built 
there to cut off the Kimichie and the South¬ 
west Indian trade from Fort Smith. 

Culla was surrounded by thrifty farmers, 
both red and white. When I began working 
in Brewer’s store Brewer and I made an 
agreement. I agreed to trade with the In¬ 
dians, as I knew their customs and lan¬ 
guage, while Brewer agreed to trade with 
the whites. I was the only one in Culla 
that could talk or understand the Indian 
tongue, hence Brewers store got most of 
the Indian trade. 

One Sunday Brewer and I were standing 

65 


on our store front. It was a cola day, and 
a four-inch snow lay upon the ground. A 
bunch of Indians from the mountains be¬ 
yond the Kimiche came along. They were 
on their way to Fort Smith. They had been 
summoned to appear before the U. S. 
Court, on a murder trial. They were the 
hardest looking set I ever saw. Most of the 
squaws were barefooted, and one of the 
bucks had no shoes. A few of them had on 
calico pants and shirts. They belonged to 
the backwoods class of Indians, and look¬ 
ed to be 100 years behind the times. I knew 
that the witnesses got big pay when sum¬ 
moned to attend court, so I asked them if 
they did not want to buy shoes. They said 
they wanted the shoes* but had no money. 
I told them that I would let them have 
goods, and wait for the pay until they drew 
their money from the Government. They 
bought about $35.00 worth of goods. 

Brewer got mad because I let the Indians 
have goods on time, and I told him that I 
did not interfere with his part of the trade, 
and if he was going to butt in on my part 
and say how it ought to be done, I would 
turn it ail over to him. He quieted down 
and said, I only want you to be more care¬ 
ful who you let have goods. I don’t believe 
that I will ever get a cent for the goods you 
let them have. Three months rolled by and 
nothing was heard from my crazy relation, 
as Brewer called them. Late one evening 
I saw them coming. They were with Bob 

66 


Mcln'a, a negro, and a citizen of the Kimiche 
country, an old customer of mine. He was 
returning home from a trip to Fort Smith, 
With furs. When I saw them coming I said 
to Brewer, I see my relation coming. Brew¬ 
er stepped to the door and looked down the 
road. When he saw them, he said, I’ll be 
d-m, and walked back to his work with a 
smile on his face. They camped that night 
in our wagon yard. Next morning they 
paid their debt and bought fifty odd dollars 
worth of goods to take home with them. 
They would not trade in Fort Smith, be¬ 
cause an Indian never forgets a kind act. 

Brewer looked sheepish while they were 
paying out their money for his goods. For 
some time Brewer was in an extra good hu¬ 
mor with me. He said that I knew more 
about the Indians than he did, that he 
didn’t like them and couldn’t trust them. I 
told him hands off and mouth shut about 
them. 

A short time after my hobo kinsfolk had 
passed through Culla came Sam Bahanon, a 
prominent Indian of Wadeville, a merchant. 
Sam bought his goods from B. Bear, a mer¬ 
chant of Fort Smith. Every spring he 
would take a wagon load of furs to Fort 
Smith to sell. He had never bought any 
goods at Culla. The day opened up bright 
and clear the morning Bahanon started 
for Fort Smith with his furs, and his family 
were with him. When he reached Culla it 
was raining. He said if he had any place 

67 


to keep his family dry he would wait till 
morning. I told him to drive his wagon un¬ 
der a stock shed in our wagon yard, and 
him as his family come in the store and sit 
around the stove where they could keep 
warm. It rained all evening, and when night 
came on it was still raining. When closing 
time came I told Bahanon that I would sleep 
at Brewer’s house that night, and he could 
bring in his bedding and sleep in the store. 
I gave him the keys to the store and went 
down to the house. When I got there Brew¬ 
er said, what have you done with your kins¬ 
folk? I left them in the store. You didn’t 
do it, Brewer said. I certainly did, I turned 
them over the key. The hell you did, I’ll go 
and see. He went to the store on pretense 
to get some sugar. When he came back I 
heard him tell his wife “yes, they are in the 
store as thick as fleas, and I don’t like such 
business.” I don’t think that he slept any 
that night. Next morning it was still rain¬ 
ing, and Riddle Creek was past fording, and 
mud was everywhere. The morning was 
cold and sloppy. When I went to the store 
Bahanon was carrying his bed clothing out 
to his wagon. While I was sweeping the 
store Brewer came in. He had on a full case 
of the sulks. He made a search amongst 
his goods to see if there was anything miss¬ 
ing. At last, becoming satisfied that every¬ 
thing was as he had left it the evening be¬ 
fore, he began to put his old commercial 
smile on his face. 


68 


The noon hour came on and it was still 
raining. In the evening Bahanon began to 
ask the price of our goods. Finally he told 
me that if we would buy his furs and dry 
hides he would not go to Fort Smith, as it 
was so cold and sloppy. I told him if we 
could agree on the price of his furs and if he 
would take goods for them, we would trade. 
The evening was spent in assorting and 
pricing furs and hides. That night no cloud 
appeared on Brewer’s face when I told Ba¬ 
hanon he could stay and sleep in the store. 
His furs amounted to a little over $200.00. 
After taking up the price of his furs, he 
bought nearly a hundred dollars worth of 
goods and paid the cash for them. 

After Bahanon had left Brewer said, I 
owe you an apology. The first night you 
turned the store over to those Indians I 
thought that half the goods in the store 
would be gone next morning. I was mad 
enough to drive them out doors when 
went to the store that night and found 
their blankets scattered over the floor. 
Brewer, said I, Bahanon is honest. There is 
not a man in this Territory that has more 
influence than he has. Had you turned him 
out henceforth your name would have been 
Dennis, as far as your trade with the In¬ 
dians is concerned. You are doing a credit 
business in a country where there is no 
collection law. You have many dollars down 
on your books against the people of this 
country, both red and white. In the fall 

69 


round up you will see that the Indians will 
walk up and pay what they owe you, while 
the white men will either deny their debts, 
or try to take advantage of the collecting 
law. 

When collecting time came on the In¬ 
dians paid their debts like men, while some 
of the white men refused to pay, others told 
Brewer that if he didn’t take a yearling, 
pony or hog, they couldn’t pay him at all. 

Culla Chihi is a little village situated on 
Riddle Prairie, Choctaw Nation, six miles 
west of Hackett City, and twenty miles 
southwest of Fort Smith. It boasted of 
about twenty male inhabitants. I will here 
say that the sun never shown on a more 
dare devil set of people than the Cullaites. 
They were men of different nationalities 
and professions. Charlie Wilson, who boast¬ 
ed of killing thirty-five whiskey peddlers 
while he served as marshal, was killed by 
Bob and Charlie Benton, Edd Fisher, Corne¬ 
lius McCurtain, Canadians, and Jack Crow, 
a negro, while returning home from an 
Indian election. Bill Comer killed a man on 
the Osage river. Emmett Cradock killed 
two negroes in Kentucky. Dick Fuller 
clerked in Cradock’s store while hiding 
from the officers of the town for killing two 
men in Logan county} Ark. Mike Odom, a 
fighting bully from Mississippi, gamblers 
from other counties made up the population 
of Culla. When I went there the Cullaites 
were truthful and generous, but they were 

70 


sure to have their fun at any cost. Gambling 
and horseracing was the order of the day. 
Men from Missouri, Arkansas and Texas 
would bring their horses to Culla to run 
them. 

A short time before I went to Culla, Tom 
Bates, of Sebastain county, Ark., won 
$500.00 from Dodd Morrace on a horse 
race. There was considerable dissatisfac¬ 
tion over the race, and the sporting faction 
believed the race to be a jocky. It was de¬ 
cided to run the race over, doubling the bet. 
Farmers, merchants and gamblers, were 
interested in the race. By ten o’clock on 
the day of the race two thousand people 
were gathered at the race track. Whiskey 
was plentiful; a fight or two was pulled off 
for passtime. That morning Bill Moore 
came in the store and asked me for the loan 
of my improved Cowboy 45 pistol, saying 
my 38 is too small for me today. I informed 
him that I never loaned my pistol. Allright, 
Brewer will loan me his. Before leaving the 
store Bill bought a round of cartridges from 
me, and while loading his pistol he said to 
me, Frank, do you see that double jointed 
Mississippi sun-of-a-gun making the people 
give the sidewalk to him? If he throws out 
any of his fighting slang to me today, I will 
kill him. 

He stepped out on the sidewalk, and was 
soon on his way to the race track. I didn’t 
go to the race that day. It appeared that 
after the race was over, Mike Odom told the 


71 


crowd that he could whip any one there, 
friend or foe. Billie Moore heard him, and 
said, Mike, you have gone too far with your 
language, you should except your friends. 
I will except no one, answered Mike, and to 
prove this, I will make you my first sample. 
Don‘t undertake that, if you do, somebody 
will get hurt, said Billie Moore, as he pre¬ 
pared to draw his pistol; whereupon Mike 
started for him, they being about fifteen 
feet apart adr s i oleuwitt 
steps apart. Billie Moore raised his pistol, 
took aim, and Emmett Cradoc jumped to 
his side, knocking his pistol up, and the 
bullet passed over Mike’s head. Five times 
Emmett Cradoc caused Billie Moore to miss 
his aim. At last Billie said to Cradoc, if 
you cause me to miss this, my last shot, I 
will kill you. Cradoc stepped aside, and Bil¬ 
lie took deliberate aim, waited until Mike 
was almost upon him, fired, and Mike fell 
forward on his face, drew one breath, and 
passed away. Billie Moore ran to Phil Brew¬ 
er, took his pistol, waved it over his head, 
told the crowd to make a lane for him to 
pass through. Billie went home and told 
his parents what he had done, and Mr. 
Moore told him to go to a certain cane- 
brake on Potoc river, and stay until he 
could go to Fort Smith and see what could 
be done. 

That night Mr. Moore, Phil Brewer and 
Emmett Cradoc went to Fort Smith. 
They learned that Billie had a serious case 


72 


cn hand and could not escape the Pen. Mr. 
Moore went to Billie, and advised him to 
give up. Billie told his father to go to Culla 
and ask me if I had told anybody of the 
conversation we had the morning of the 
killing. If I hadn’t told anybody and would 
promise not to tell he would give up. All 
depended on what I had done. I informed 
Mr. Moore that I had not said anything 
about the conversation to anyone. Billie 
surrendered and was sentenced to serve 
four years in the pen at Little Rock, Arkan¬ 
sas. He was serving his time when I left 
Culla. 

About a year after Billie was sent to pris¬ 
on, Marion Odom, a brother of Mike Odom, 
came to Culla. He informed all he met 
with that he and Billie would have a reck¬ 
oning when Billie was released from pris¬ 
on. Marion,, like his brother, was a scrap¬ 
per. One day Tom Clare, from Missouri, 
met Odom, and told him that he was a 
friend to Billie Moore, and if he wanted to 
fight, to choose his seconds and enter the 
ring with him. Odom accepted the chal¬ 
lenge, and chose Bud Tucker as his second, 
and Tom Clare chose me to act for him. 
Bud and I chose a shady spot at the back of 
Barnes* store. Disarmed and stripped the 
fighters, and turned them go. It was a 
rough and tumble affair. Odom outwinded 
Clare, and was declared the winner. After 
the fighty Clare stepped up to Odom, you 
whipped me fair, you are a better man than 

73 


I am, and I would rather die than lie under 
the whipping you gave me, and now to 
show 4 the people that I am as brave as you 
are, I challenge you to tie our left arms to¬ 
gether and fight with knives, Mexican 
fashion, till one or the other falls. If you 
don’t accept the challenge, and I ever hear 
of you bragging about whipping me, Odom, 
said Clare, I claim no victory over you, you 
are the bravest man; I will not accept your 
challenge. They shook hands, and were at 
peace with each other when I last heard 
from them 

CHAPTER XI. 

One September morning during the sev¬ 
enties, I was on my way to Caldwell, Kan¬ 
sas, with a bunch of beef cattle to put on 
the market. We were driving our cattle 
over one of the deserted trails that led from 
the ranches to Caldwell. We were met by 
a train of emigrants on their way to Texas; 
and through courtesy to the emigrants our 
cattle were driven to one side of the trail 
so that the emigrants might drive on the 
trail without turning their wagons. When 
well up the side of the long line of prairie 
schooners, some one in a canvas top 
schooner yelled at me, saying hold on there, 
Frank, I know you. I check my pony and 
a man climbed out of the wagon and walked 
over to me. It was my brother Jim on his 
way to Texas. I told him I was working on 
a ranch, and that if he would go to the ranch 
or to an Indian village close by and stay till 

74 


I came back from Kansas, I would go with 
him to Texas. He agreed to this proposi¬ 
tion, and when I returned from Caldwell, I 
found my brother with the Indians, mak¬ 
ing preparations for his wedding. The trip 
to Texas was forgotten. After my brother 
married I went to Hackett City, Ark., and 
sold goods for Williams & Elder. 

A short time after I left the Kimiche 
country Jim moved to the Diffee Mountains, 
four miles from Hackett City, and settled 
down on one of old Preacher Bill Ramsey’s 
farms, and was doing well when he died. 
He left a wife and one child, Little Nora. 
Jim was buried in the Williams grave yard, 
four miles east of Hackett City, Arkansas. 
Jim had a wife and one child in the flinty 
hills of the grave in Miller county, Missouri. 
When Jim died, Martha Jane, his wife, se¬ 
lected me to settle every dollar he owed. I 
did as requested, moved away, and have 
never heard of her since. The last account 
of her she lived in Coldgate, Oklahoma. 

A short time after brother died I was hir¬ 
ed to take a wagon load of furs from Tuska- 
homa to McAllister, a distance of sixty-five 
miles. The first camp I made was on a 
little creek forty miles from Tuskahoma. 
The spring rains had begun to fall, causing 
traveling to be very disagreeable. A slow, 
drizzling rain pattered on the canvas top 
wagon that night, and the next morning it 
was mud, mud, mud, and slush, slush. 
About ten o’clock the sun threw back her 


75 


misty surroundings, and set a flow of sun¬ 
light down upon the earth that made all 
nature warm and lovely. My joy was com¬ 
plete. I was living a wild free life of the 
West, respected and trusted by all the bus¬ 
iness men of the country. It’s true, I was 
not far from civilization. I was just far 
enough away to make my separation feel 
good. 

As I rode along in my rumbling old 
schooner, listening to the notes of the song¬ 
birds, here and there a flock of prairie 
chickens would rise out of the tall grass and 
fly off toward the open country behind me. 
Now and then a nimble squirrel would 
scamper and frisk across the road ahead 
of me, climb on a tree, run out on a limb 
and chatter at me. As I drove by, Great 
God, life was worth living then. I was near¬ 
ing a mining town nine miles south of Mc¬ 
Alister, when I overtook an Indian girl of 
about fourteen summers. When I drove up 
behind her she stepped to one side to al¬ 
low me to pass. When opposite her I stopp¬ 
ed the wagon and asked if she didn’t want 
to ride. Me on my way to McAlister, hosse 
couldn’t find all et tho, must walk. Me ride 
plenty. She crawled up in the seat beside 
me, and for the next nine miles I never en¬ 
joyed myself better than to listen to the 
musical and bell-like voice of that Indian 
maiden. All fear of me left her when she 
learned that I was selling goods at Tuska- 
homa. When we reached McAlister my little 

76 


Indian friend told me she would do her trad¬ 
ing that evening so as to be ready to go out 
with me the next morning. I was proud of 
her, she was so intelligent, so truthful, and 
so lovely. As we rode along on our home 
journey she gave me the history of her life. 
She told me how she and her father caught 
beavers, otters and raccoons. I felt lonely 
when she bade me goodbye. For twleve 
miles this untutored child of the desert rode 
with me for protection. 

When I was a young man I could win the 
confidence of almost anyone I met. I can 
read the snake-like lines delineated on the 
face of a traitor. I am no traitor and 
couldn’t be one. My disposition won’t allow 
it in me. Through life I never betrayed 
any one. I never betray confidence. This 
is one reason why I have been so successful 
in keeping myself hid from the world. If I 
were young and active like I once was, I 
could, by the help of a true friend, evade 
any officer of the law, and live under his 
nose a lifetime without detection. A true 
friend is worth more than dollars. 

I have lived within less than two hundred 
miles from where rewards were offered for 
me. I have talked with the officers about 
the reward offered for me, and have outwit¬ 
ted them and the world. I have thought 
that I would pass away and not tell anyone 
who I was, but the more I studied about it, 
the more it bore upon my mind to write a 
short history of my life. While reading the 


77 


books of the James boys I find that there 
are many things told against us that we 
didn’t do. We were never guilty of insult¬ 
ing the women. We always respected the 
opposite sex. While I will admit that we 
have done many a deed which was bad, but 
were driven to it when we were young. 
When we were young there was no one that 
could shoot a gun like we could. We were 
given up to be the best shots in Missouri. 
I am old now, at the time of this writing, 
but guess I could shoot a gun yet. 

While I was working on C. B. McLelen’s 
ranch in Oklahoma, I believe it was in the 
year of 1875, I attended an Indian Pow 
Wow. While the old tubby Indians were do¬ 
ing their ancient fandango steps, I and an 
Indian girl were sitting in the shade of our 
Cottonwood trees doing some old time 
sparking. She was teaching me the Indian 
language, and here is some of it as it comes 
to me: Ette ut shell—the tree is dry, U. piti 
killiyi—let’s go swimming. Cute ma escar 
—where you going. Acchuma submni—I 
want tobacco. Wakushe Exsho—a barren 
cow. Esobrish phliji—long eared pony.. 

While my Indian friend and I were sitting 
there having our friendly combat in the 
dark corner of the dance ground, the dan¬ 
cers were making the night hideous with 
their yells, grunts and gabbling. I have al¬ 
ways, while traveling through life, tried to 
associate with the best class of people. C. 
B. McLelen, my employer, was a Cherokee 


78 




The Cabin, in the heart of the Ozark Mountains, 
built by Frank James where he reared nine 

9 

children. 









of the upper class, and was worth thousands 
of dollars. I was one of his trusties, and at 
times considerable amounts of money was 
turned over to me to buy cattle. My Indian 
sweetheart’s father was a prophet, and a 
great friend to C. B. McLelen. He claimed 
to have received a new revelation from God, 
and wanted it written in Indian-English, and 
put in book form for his girl, a graduate 
from Washington and I was the one the 
girl’s father wanted to do the work. This 
was the reason that we were such cronies. 
It was no disgrace to be found in her com¬ 
pany, and I enjoyed life while working on 
the ranch. I had friends to give away, and 
money to throw at the birds. No boss to 
lord over me. I went when I pleased, and 
got back when I got ready, and have no 
questions asked. 

During my stay on McLelen’s ranch, I 
was making preparations to visit my home¬ 
land. I was in the fall round up at Cald¬ 
well. When everything was ready for the 
move toward St. Louis, I crawled to the top 
of a box car and sat down on the race- 
board and pretended to be looking after the 
cattle. The brakemen paid no attention to 
me, thinking that I was discharging my duty 
as a cattle helper. When the train reached 
Holden, a town on the Missouri Pacific rail¬ 
road, in Johnson county, Missouri, I left the 
train and stalked out through fields and 
thick woods, in the direction of a place that 
I once called home. At about four o’clock 


79 


in the afternoon I came to our pasture 
fence. The old fencd looked so familiar to 
me. I crawled over the fence and made my 
way to a place where I would be concealed 
from all humanity. All the rest of the even¬ 
ing I lay in concealment watching my folks 
going here and there doing their eveing 
chores. When night began to spread her 
mantle of darkness over the earth, I came 
out of my hiding and walked over to the 
house to see my folks. 

People, you never saw such screaming 
and crying. They thought I was killed. 
They got the news that a posse of men 
caught me and burned me, and when I 
came walking through the yard and my 
mother recognized me she fainted and fell 
to the ground. I picked her up and told 
her that I was all right and had come home 
to talk awhile with her. I stayed until 
about four o’clock in the morning, when I 
bade my mother and folks good-bye and 
walked away. I told them that I would take 
good care of myself. My God, what a feel¬ 
ing, as I walked away* and turned my back 
upon my people. 

The same feeling creeps over me as I sit 
and write. I have always been a wanderer, 
all my life I have wandered about, unknown 
to the world and unknown to all my people. 
I am old and down and out, and am still an 
unknown wanderer. 

So as I turned my back on the home of 
my childhood I started back to Oklahoma. 


80 


So, readers, transport your mind back to 
old Oklahoma when it was a territory in its 
virgin state. Oklahoma was once a howl¬ 
ing waste, dotted here and there with cattle 
ranches run by renegades from all parts of 
the world. It was the home of the law¬ 
breakers, and thousands of Texas long¬ 
horned cattle could be seen grazing on the 
broad prairies. 

In the year 1868 I was working on 
Charley McLelen’s ranch. We had cut out 
1200 head of four and five year old fat cat¬ 
tle, and was on our way to Caldwell, Kan¬ 
sas. I put them on the market the 5th day 
out from the ranch. The morning opened 
up beautiful and bright, not a cloud could 
be seen in the heavens. When the sun be¬ 
gan to peep at us from over the eastern 
slopes we were at our station. I began to 
move the cattle across the billowed prairie. 
I occupied the left front flank that day, 
while Bud Tucker occupied the right. Ever 
now and and then I could hear him singing 
the well-known cowboy song: “The days 
of old, in the days of gold, in the days of 
forty-nine." I loved Bud, and I loved his 
song. Every time I hear it now, it takes me 
back to the awful days of hunger and hard¬ 
ships. 

I endured the next few days after that 
day’s ride. The day was unusually warm. 
The chuck wagon rocked from side to side, 
as it was drawn over the rough trail in front 
of the heard of cattle, en route for a good 


81 


watering and camping place, We were or¬ 
dered by the cattle foreman at the ranch, to 
drive this herd by easy stages to Kansas, so 
that the cattle would be in good condition 
when put in the stockyards at Caldwell, 
hence two or three hours of rest was given 
at noon by our foreman. Whild eating our 
dinner that day, Dick Norwood, an old time 
ranger and an experienced cowboy, one 
who had spent his entire life on the Western 
prairies, said to us, boys, it’s as hot as 
hades, today, I’ll give my ears to any of you 
for a saddle blanket, if Oklahoma ain’t 
swept by the durndest windstorms you ever 
saw before morning. Close that old wind 
valve, you old storm prophet. Come in early 
this evening, all of you, and help me stake 
down our grub wagon. I don’t want our 
biscuits blown aw r ay by one of Dick’s 
storms, came from John Bender, the cook, 
whereupon everyone laughed. 

Dick laid down his knife and fork, looked 
across the rolling prairie and said, boys, I 
am no prophet nor a son of a prophet. If 
I had any relations that were a prophet, I 
never knew it, but if any of you had gray 
matter enough in your wooly pates to line a 
dirt dobber’s nest, you would know that that 
mirage-like glimmer on the horizon speaks 
of a change in the weather. The leaves not 
moving on the cottonwood trees, outside of 
the cattle, the ponies and your blamed 
tongues, everything is as still as death. As 
if in answer to Dick’s prediction, an earth- 


82 


quake like rumble was heard in the distant 
west, and all eyes were turned in that di¬ 
rection. Black jaggered clouds were seen 
heaving up from behind a low rim of hills 
that lay off to our west. 

Boys, my experience on the cattle range 
tells me that Dick is right about a storm. 
We are in no great hurry to reach Caldwell, 
so we had better spend the evening resting 
and preparing for high winds, should any 
come, were the orders of Bert Brown, our 
boss. The cattle were driven across a little 
creek that ran close by and left in charge 
of two cowboys. The cook was ordered to 
get supper early. As the evening wore on, 
they sky became more threatening. That 
night all hands except the cook were with 
the herd. It was the darkest night I ever 
saw, broken only by a flash of lightning, as 
it gleamed from the murky clouds. Now and 
then a streak of lightning would shoot 
across the heavens, followed by a roar that 
made the earth tremble. It was an awful 
night, made horrible by the oncoming wind 
and the downpouring of the rain. 

The cattle went into early retirement that 
night, after quenching theii thirst at the 
creek and eating grass to their satisfaction. 
They lay down to rest and sleep off the fa¬ 
tigue of the day. When the flitful gusts of 
wind which always precedes a storm, began 
to sweep over the prairie, the cattle became 
uneasy and arose to their feet and bgan to 
drift with the wind. 


83 


When darkness came on, we couldn’t tell 
what side of the cattle we were on. When 
a flash of lightning lit up our surroundings, 
for a moment, we could see a sea of living 
flesh, moving with the storm. To avoid a 

stampede we tried in vain to start the cattle 
to milling. Our horses were so frightened 
that we could not manage them. Hades 
turned loose on us when the storm and its 
fury broke upon us. The roar of the thun¬ 
der and wind, and the falling of the rain, the 
bellowing* of the cattle and the clanking of 
the horses could be heard on every hand. 
Before me, behind me, on each side of me, 
above me, was the noise and confusion. The 
cattle had stampeded. Ride like the devil, 
and take care of your own scalp, was the 
thought of every one. I turned my pony’s 
head from the wind, put spurs to his flanks, 
and turned him go. Like the wind my pony, 
my favorite of the summer’s round up, flew 
over the billowed wastes, until he stepped 
his foot in a prairie dog’s hole and broke 
his leg. 

I stripped my pony of bridle and saddle, 
and started afoot for camp. The storm had 
passed, and no noise from the bleeding cat¬ 
tle came to my ears. When I started for 
camp I traveled all night, but did not realize 
that I was lost until daylight showed me my 
position. No creek could be seen, and no 
sign of camp was before me. I was surely 
lost. Imagine my feeling, lost in the center 


84 


of a trackless waste, miles and miles from 
civilization. 

I spent hour after hour trying to find 
some trace or sign that would lead me to 
the place where my pony had broken his 
leg, but no trace of herd or pony could be 
found. That evening when the sun went 
down behind the western hills, I was suffer¬ 
ing the pangs of thirst and hunger. So that 
night, sitting in the forks of a blackjack 
tree, and listened to the music of Oklaho¬ 
ma’s first settlers, the howl of the timber 
wolf and the yelps of the cayote, the yells of 
the panther the cry of the catamount, 
which could be heard on every hand. Next 
morning I started out early in search of wa¬ 
ter. I must have water. About ten o’clock 
I found about a gallon of water in a deep 
gully that was covered with death bugs, 
ants and grasshoppers; I brushed them 
aside, the best that I could and drank heart¬ 
ily of the bug-stained water. 

As evening wore on, I was beginning to 
think that I would have to spend another 
night, in the blackjack tree, as the thought 
came to me, can I live another night with¬ 
out food and water? When suddenly a 
beautiful stream of water! Could it be a 
mirage? It was not a delusion. I could 
see the blue smoke curling above the cot¬ 
tonwood trees that lined the bank. An In¬ 
dian village was down there. I could hear 
the whooping of children at play, and the 
barking of dogs. Knowing that an Indian 

85 


hated ranchers, and I did not know how 
they would treat me if Ientered their vil¬ 
lage; but it was death to go back to my 
wanderings, so I screwed up my courage to 
the one hundreth notch, and boldly walked 
into the village. The children scuddled to 
their tepes like prairie dogs to their holes 
when they saw me coming. The Indian 
squaws poked their heads out of the doors 
of their wigwams and muttered nohoto, 
meaning white man. The Indian warriors 
sat around in a circle under the shade of a 
big cottonwood tree smoking the pipe of 
peace. I stepped up to the chief and told 
him that I was lost and starving. He looked 
me straight in the face for about five 
minutes, rose to his feet and muttered 
come.. 

We walked down to his wigwam. The 
chief spoke to his wife in the Indian tongue. 
She spread an old piece of oil cloth down on 
the ground before me and began to place 
edibles upon it. Never before nor since has 
there been such a bountiful supply of provi¬ 
sions set before me. Venison, beef, fish, 
tomfuller, tonche, loboni, and shuck bread 
was laid on the old oil cloth for me to tackle. 
I didn’t need the second invitation to begin 
work, for the next half hour John Bender’s 
flying biscuits, Dick Norwood’s storm and 
my wanderings were forgotten. 

After eating all my stomach would hold, 
I lay down under the spreading branches 
of a cottonwood tree to rest and soon fell 


86 



Entrance to the cemetery, where Frank James was 
buried, at Wayton, Arkansas 















asleep, and knew nothing more until the 
sun was dappling the east next morning. 
When I awakened my body ached all over, 
my feet were in blisters and swelled out of 
shape. I limped down to the creek to bathe 
my feet in its cool waters. While there, busy 
with my feet, the chief came to me and ask¬ 
ed me how I came to be there in the shape 
I was in. I told him that I was a hired hand 
on C. B. McLelen’s ranch. I gave him a 
full account of the storm, the stampede, and 
my awful hunger and thirst before I came 
to their village. I thanked him for his 
kindness, and asked him to sell me a pony 
so that I might go back to McLelen’s ranch. 
He told me that he would not sell or let me 
have a pony, because I was not in shape to 
travel. He told me that I would have to 
stay with him, not as a prisoner, nor a 
slave, but as his boy, for some time to 
come. 

At first I wondered why this Indian had 
taken such a liking to me, but I was not 
left long to wonder. On entering the village 
I saw the well known letters that C. B. 
stamped on beef hides, hung up to dry. I 
afterwards learned that four or five hun¬ 
dred head of Charlie McLelen’s cattle were 
in herd three or four miles down the creek. 
When they needed beef they knew where 
to get it. They thought that I knew too 
much about their affairs to allow me to go 
to McLelen’s ranch until all evidence was 
destroyed. The evening the storm came up 

87 


our herds were watched from the distant 
hills by these Indians. When night set in they 
mixed with the cowboys in the darkness, 
as no one could see or tell an Indian from 
a white man. When the herd stampeded 
the Indians cut off four or five hundred 
head of cattle from the main herd and drove 
them to the village. 

Before I had been with the Indians six 
months I learned that an Indian would do 
more for an enemy in distress than a white 
man would do for a friend. The chief and 
his wife treated me like I was there own 
boy. I called the chief’s wife mother. No 
mother could be better to her own child 
than this dusky savage was to me. One 
day the chief and I were down on the creek 
fishing. He was in a talkative mood, and 
told me of many scraps he had had in his 
past life. I knew he was doing this to draw 
me out. Then and there I told him I was 
a native of Missouri hiding out from the 
arm of the law, that the reward offered for 
me drove me away from civilization, to take 
refuge among the lawbreakers like myself; 
that I was glad I was adopted into his tribe. 
The outside world not hearing from me 
would think I was dead. 

After this no secrets were hid from me, 
and I was admitted to the council chamber. 
I could go with them on hunting and fish¬ 
ing excursions, but I was never permitted 
to go where there was danger attended with 


88 


them. All the Indians acted like they were 
my bodyguard. 

Many years have rolled away since I saw 
my Indian friends. Many of them have 
passed through the valley of the shadow 
of death, into the land of the Great Spirit, 
where all Indian homeseekers are bid to 
come, to a land of plenty, where the white 
man, by the high arms of might, can never 
take from them. 

Will I ever see them again? I have often 
asked myself, while listening to the preach¬ 
ers speak of a land beyond the dark Jordan 
of death: Will we know each other there? 
I hope so. 

After I was permitted to take leave of my 
Indian friends I went to Fort Smith. Fort 
Smith at that time was the center point of 
trade. The Choctaws, the Cherokees, the 
Osages and the Creek Indians favored Fort 
Smith with the most of their trade. The 
Indians living in these territories raised 
hogs, horses and cattle to sell. Traders 
from all points of the compass went to these 
territories to buy. These traders, not 
knowing the customs or the language of 
the Indians, always inquired for the most 
suitable person to go with them and help 
them trade, and I was nearly always rec¬ 
ommended. All that was expected of me by 
these traders was to take them to a good 
place to buy the stock desired and recom¬ 
mend them to some prominent Indian 
where he could establish quarters during 

89 


his stay on a basis that would guarantee 
safety to the property bought. I had an 
easy time, got good wages, wore fine 
clothes, and stayed with A1 Belt, a saloon 
keeper in Fort Smith, when not employed 
by the traders. I occupied a room upstairs, 
over the main saloon, during sleeping hours, 
and took my meals at the restaurants. 

One evening I was on my way to the Eng¬ 
lish Kitchen for my supper, and in passing 
a saloon I heard some one say, boys, I be 
doggoned if I didn’t see Frank pass that 
door. I turned back and there stood Dick 
Norwood, Bud Tucker and Bert Brown. 
This unexpected meeting caused excite¬ 
ment for a time. They informed me that I 
was given up as dead. We all went to the 
restaurant and ate our suppers. I intro¬ 
duced them to A1 Belt as my old time 
chums. I got the drinks on Norwood. I 
introduced him to A1 as a ranch wind indi¬ 
cator. We had a glorious time spinning 
yarns to each other. In a short time A1 
Belt’s saloon was filled with cowboys. The 
sheriff, George Williams, came in and made 
one of our number. They got on a big 
drunk, in honor, they said, of my escape 
from the cow hoofs on the night of the 
Dick Norwood storm. 

They all had money, and spent it freely. 
One would call for the drinks for the house, 
then hand the bar tender a five or ten dol¬ 
lar bill, and take no change in return. A1 
told me, the next morning that he sold 


90 


whiskey that night at the rate of $40 per 
gallon. The boys were buying cattle for 
Cross Bar outfit, and were bunching them 
on Riddle Prairie, in the Choctaw Nation. 

I hated to see them leave next morning, 
and they begged me to go with them. I 
wanted to go but I could not, as I had prom¬ 
ised Jack Belt, a brother to Al, to go to 
Tuskahoma and sell goods for him. Tuska- 
homa is situated on the Kimiche river, 
about sixty miles southwest of Fort Smith. 
It was composed of one old dilapidated 
house. It was the first Council house built 
by the Choctaws after they took charge of 
their country. It stood thirty feet wide and 
sixty feet long. Two rooms were cut off 
at the back, ten by twelve, one I used as a 
cook room, and the other I used as a slum¬ 
ber room. The front room I used for my 
stock of goods. There I took up bachelor 
quarters, with a $3,000.00 stock of goods to 
exchange for money, furs and hides, horses, 
and cattle. 

I built up a good trade, and gave satisfac¬ 
tion. When the time of my stay expired at 
Tuskahoma, Jack Belt recommended me to 
Phil Brewer, a merchant at Culla Chaha, 
Indian Territory. I stayed with Brewer two 
years. While in Culla I received letters from 
home. My sister Sarah and brother 
George wrote several letters to me. 

One day I received a letter from home 
saying that I must make a get-a-way as 
soon as possible. The Cullaites were all 


91 


friends to me and advised me not to leave, 
saying that they would stick to me as long 
as a button stayed on their shirts. They 
were a tough set and meant every word 
they said. I did not want to get them into 
trouble, so I went back to Hackett City, 
borrowed a meal sack and two small water 
kegs from Bill Cushenberry, a saloon keep¬ 
er at Hackett. At that time it was no 
crime to buy, carry or give away whiskey, 
but it was a grave crime to be caught in the 
Indian Territory with any intoxicants. The 
whiskey peddlers were in the habit of buy¬ 
ing their whiskey in the state and wait until 
night to enter the territory. 

I told Bill my scheme, and where he could 
find the sacks and kegs when he wanted 
them. I filled them with water, placed them 
in the meal sack and waited till nearly sun¬ 
set, then mounted my pony, placed the kegs 
behind me and rode through the street of 
Hackett, yelling and reeling in my saddle. 
Everybody thought that I was drunk, and 
on my way to the Territory with whiskey. 
I kept the Hartford road until I reached the 
bridge that spanned James Fork. There I 
left my kegs and left the main road. I rode 
down the creek and crossed the Diffa moun¬ 
tain. The next morning I was at Paris, in 
Logan county, Arkansas. 


92 


CHAPTER XII. 


From there I went back to the Territory, 
where I met my old comrades and got with 
Dick Norwood. The trapping season had 
opened up, and all fall Dick Norwood and I 
had been busy making arrangements for a 
trapping expedition on a little stream called 
Fush-Maline, in Oklahoma. I had served as 
chief clerk for Brewer and McMurtrey, dry 
goods merchants at Culla Chaha for three 
years. The confinement was telling on me, 
and I was losing my health; so Dr. Morrow, 
of Culla advised me to take a few months 
rest. We hired us a carpenter to build us 
a boat thirty feet long and eight feet wide. 
Dick made a small boat to be used in setting 
traps for beavers and otters. The big boat 
was used for carrying traps, tents, bedding, 
flour, meal, coffee, bacon, and all our 
household furniture. We hired a young 
man named Jay to go with us a^ cook and 
general roust-a-bout. We had no fear of 
being molested by the Indins. We carried 
a permit from the Chief, McCurtain, grant¬ 
ing us the right to trap and hunt in their 
territory. That season, about the middle 
of October, 1875, we turned the nose of our 
boat up stream, bid farewell to civilization 
for a time, and sought new fields of enjoy¬ 
ment on the headwaters of the Fush among 
the varmints. 

We had a hard time getting our big boat 
over some of the shoals we met on our way. 


93 


Reaching our destination we spread our 
tent close by a large lake of water where 
beaver signs were plentiful. Here we began 
to trap in earnest, and our catch was great¬ 
er than we had expected. One day while 
tracking a deer I came upon a big bunch 
of wild hogs, as fat as acorns would make 
them. When they saw me they ran into a 
cane thicket close by. A few days later, 
just as we were sitting down to dinner two 
Indian bucks rode into camp and demanded 
to know where we were going, whereupon 
our permit was handed to them. After 
reading it they handed it back with a grunt 
of satisfaction. They dismounted, hitched 
their horses, and walked over to the trunk 
of a tree and sat down. When dinner was 
announced they took a seat with us at our 
table and ate as they expressed it, a whole 
heap belly full. 

After eating came the test of fellowship. 
A pipe was lit and pased around, they smok¬ 
ed and passed the pipe back to us. Fear 
went from the breast of every one. We 
were on a common level, and would act 
upon the square. I told about the hogs I 
saw a few evenings before, and they said 
these hogs were wild, and considered com¬ 
mon property. They said if they had their 
guns they would take a hunt for them and 
try to kill one or two of them for meat. 

Dick and I told them that they were wel¬ 
come to use our guns to hunt with that 
evening, and they rode away pleased with 

94 


the kindness shown them while in camp. 
In about two hours they came back each 
with a big hog tied behind him. They 
thanked us for our guns, and told us to 
kill a hog any time we wanted one. Ealhoga 
they said and rode away. The next day an 
old Indian came to our camp and said, been 
sick long, long time, no eat deer, turkey, 
want bacon, heap bacon, belly full, then me 
get well, feel big. Jay, our cook soon had 
enough bacon to satisfy a half dozen hun¬ 
gry men, corn pone and hot coffee 
in proportion. This was set before him, and 
I never saw a sick man eat like tubby. He 
ate until everything before him disappear¬ 
ed. He then got up, walked out to a big log 
and sat down, rubbed his stomach and said, 
me feel bully. All evening Dick sauntered 
around the camp humming to himself, “He 
will never see the roses bloom again.” I 
didn’t think he would either, but he ate as 
much for his supper as at dinner, and was 
ready for his hash next morning. Before 
he left we gave him ten or fifteen pounds 
of bacon to take home with him. He con¬ 
tended that the bacon cured him. The In¬ 
dians came often and helped us set our 
trap 3 . Sometimes they stayed all night 
with us and helped us carry in our catch 
next morning. Never were our traps mo¬ 
lested by anyone of them. 

One night the wind was blowing a perfect 
gale, the trees swayed to and fro, and every 
now and then we could hear the crash of a 


95 


tree that was too weak to withstand the 
force of the wind. Jay and I went to bed 
early, but not to sleep. We lay in our beds 
listening to the howling winds and the 
grumblings of Dick. Dick said he could not 
sleep while the wind was blowing so hard. 
He preferred sitting* by the fire and watch¬ 
ing the moving trees. A timber wolf from 
across the lake sent forth a dismal howl. 
Howl, you durned old rubber neck, if I had 
you by the neck I would twist your head 
from your worthless body. Don’t you know 
the coons and beaver won’t stir as long as 
they can hear your blasted yelps? grumbled 
Dick. Poor old Dick looked like a big Afri¬ 
can Guerilla, sitting there before the fire 
covered up in smoke, out of humor with 
himself and everything that moved. If I 
were in the Catabies, in the arms of my old 
squaw sleeping the sleep of the innocent, I 
would not be here among these confounded 
varmints, he muttered to himself. But he 
knew all the time that we were laughing at 
him. 

About this time an old horned owl from 
the top of a high oak tree screamed out, 
who, who, who. Coon catchers, Dick an¬ 
swered. Who? said the owl. Coon catch¬ 
ers, you wall eyed son-of-a-, screamed 

Dick as loud as he could yell. The owl flew 
away to a thick woods, where in a short 
time he was joined by other owls. They all 
set up a conglomerated mixture of ha, ha, 
wha, wha, that sounded like a laugh. Dick 

96 



jumped to his feet, shook his fist in the di¬ 
rection of the owls and said get up, boys, 
help load the boat. Old Dick is going to 
start in the morning to some congenial 
climate, where the owls won't langh at him 
for catching coons in their country. Boys, 
if you crease your ugly mugs with wrinkles 
I will never have anything more to do with 
you, and go without you. I’ll leave you and 
the owls behind. After giving vent to his 
spleen Dick crawled into his bed, and was 
heard no more until the sun w r as peeping 
over the eastern hills. 

I have associated with many people since 
I came into the old world, but never met 
with a better man than was Dick Norwood. 
He was generous to a fault, funny, he 
would go the limit to make you laugh. 
He had a fashion of talking to himself. He 
said Dick was one man, and Norwood was 
another, both were smart and loved to talk 
with each other. About the middle of the 
winter three trappers who had been trap¬ 
ping further up the Flush came floating 
down the stream, on their way home. They 
were destitute of provisions and had but 
few furs. They said the Indians had stole 
their traps and most of their provisions. 
These men had no permit, and were con¬ 
sidered intruders by the Indians. I was not 
sorry for them. They had no right there. 
The government had traded the Indians, 
and a certain boundary belonged to them, 
and no man outside the people of that na- 


lion had any right to be within their bor¬ 
ders. 

The morning we started on our return 
trip, several Indians came into camp to see 
us off. We sold our furs to B. Beare & Co., 
of Fort Smith and I went to Hackett City. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

About the year 1872 I owned one of the 
best race horses in Franklin county. One 
day a friend asked me for the loan of my 
horse. He was going to a horse race, but 
didn’t know anything about my horse. So 
he took him and went to the race. When 
he came back he said to me, what do you 
want for that horse? I want your horse, 
buggy, harness and all its belongings and 
one hundred and fifty dollars. Can I get it? 
Hardly, he answered. I will give you my 
horse, buggy and one hundred and twenty- 
five dollars if you want it. The horse is 
yours, I said. Good said he. I made fifty 
dollars on the horse today. Had I known 
his speed I could have made five hundred. 

I was proud of my new rig. It shined 
when put together, like new money. I took 
a drive every day, to show the people that 
there was one man in Franklin county able 
to ride in a buggy. I was a great favorite 
with the fair sex. A good horse and shin¬ 
ing buggy in those days drew as much at¬ 
tention as a car does now. I was thought to 
be a millionaire boy, skyscraping for my 
health. One evening, Mrs. Martin, the wife 
of a bridge builder, asked me to drive her 


98 


to Van Buren the next day. Mr. Martin, her 
husband, was working up there, and she 
wanted to see him. I told her that I would 
take her. Mrs. Martin was a pretty woman. 
That night I dreamed of Mrs. Martin and 
my trip with her the next day. Little did 
she think who the man was that she was 
going to ride with the next day. The name 
would have made her nervous if she had 
known it. 

I always loved women and children, and 
got along with them well. I respected 
them. 

When I left Franklin county, I went to 
Cole county, and hired Will Sweanger to 
take me to Springfield in Green county, 
Missouri. While there I stayed with Dan 
Orr, a noted horse jockey and gambler. He 
owned a sorrel race horse, and I bought one 
from him. I was preparing for a trip to 
Texas. John Morrow said that he would 
go with me, and hunt a good location for a 
position. Morrow was a graduate, just from 
Medical college. 

I found Morrow a lively companion to 
travel with. I was full of life and ready for 
fun. We were riding along the road one 
day, and were met by a long, lean, lantern- 
jawed Missourian, riding an old crippled 
mule, with a dirty meal sack under him. 
When he was riding by I said, good morn¬ 
ing, stranger, are you running for Congress 
this year? He rolled back his eyes like a 
wounded alligator and said, now what made 


99 


you think I was running for office? I 
thought it because you were using a rope 
for a bridle, meal sack for a saddle, and a 
dead mule for a crutch. I am going to mill, 
you darned fool, he said, as he jumped from 
his mule and began to look for a rock. I 
could tell by the size of his feet, the length 
of his legs, the reach of his arms, that if I 
wanted to reach Texas with a sound skin 
I had better be moving in that direction, and 
let this land alligator alone, as rocks were 
plentiful among the hills of South Missouri. 
I found out after riding off a short distance 
when the doctor had finished his laugh, he 
bet me a dime against a big round ginger 
cake that you will never see Texas with¬ 
out bruises on your body if you don’t let 
these sassafras tea drinkers alone. 

We were riding down Georges creek, six 
or seven miles north of Yellville, Marion 
county, Arkansas, and were passing by an 
old dilapidated building that was once call¬ 
ed a house. The warped and twisted condi¬ 
tion of the pailings, and the lean of the 
posts of an old garden close by spoke a 
language plainer than words; that the old 
tumble down domicile until a few days be¬ 
fore hadn’t been inhabited for years. A boy 
and a girl sat in the door with an arm 
around each other’s necks. An old gray 
whiskered man sat in a shade just outside 
the door smoking his clay pipe. The trio 
looked as happy as a field lark with clipped 
wings. When opposite the house I checked 


100 


my horse and said to the doctor, it’s good 
we are not robbers, if we were we would 
make a rich haul here. The young man in 
the door asked me what I meant by robbers 
and rich hauls. Oh, I mean we are honest 
men and you are respectable people. How 
far is it to Crooked Creek, I asked him. It 
is called six miles to Yellville, and Crooked 
Creek runs through one edge of the town. 
Is Crooked Creek a river, lake or pond? 
When I asked the young man this question 
he turned red in the face and said, you are 
either a d—m fool or are trying to make fun 
of us, and if you have business on Crooked 
Creek you had better be going to it while 
you are able. When you get there you can 
see for yourself whether it is a river, lake 
or pond. I said, don’t get mad, sonny, your 
madness might cause that flour on your 
wife’s face to sour. Wouldn’t your wife be 
a hell of an object to look at w r ith sour 
dough running down over her beautiful 
face? The young man ran in the house for 
his gun, and I knew that I had gone the 
length of my cable tow, and put spurs to 
my horse, and was off like a Kansas grass¬ 
hopper in harvest time. As I went by the 
old man I said go to your sleep, Rip Van 
Winkle, it’s too late to wake up now, your 
house and garden has already rotted down. 

After the doctor had cooled down from a 
hearty laugh, he said I wish you would take 
sick so I could give you medicine that 
would calm your nerve so you could ride 


101 


the road without having trouble with every¬ 
one you meet. A day or two later, the doc¬ 
tor said to me, I think it’s about time for 
you to do something to cause me to shake 
off this dull feeling that is crawling over 
me. 

All went as smooth as a marriage bell 
until we came to Madison county, Arkan¬ 
sas. We were traveling up King’s river and 
it was near twelve o’clock at night. We 
traveled late so as to be able to reach Ozark 
next day. There was no moon, and it was 
so dark in places that we had to trust our 
horses to keep the road. Finally we came to 
a farm house, where the inmates had long 
since retired for the night. We whooped 
and yelled until the old man was awakened 
and came to the door and asked what was 
wanted. Are we on the right road to 
Ozark, I asked him. Hardly, you missed 
the road some two miles back. You can 
take that trail that leads across that ridge 
yonder and come into the right road about 
a half a mile from here. It’s so doggoned 
dark, how in the devil do you expect us to 
find that path? Do you see that bright 
star yonder he asked? Yes, I answered, I 
see the star all right, but do you think I am 
fool enough to go to that star tonight? I 
want to know something about the road, I 
am not wanting the star route. We have 
been looking at the stars since night over¬ 
took us. You can go to that star or to hell, 
I am not caring which you do. I am going 

102 



The old barn and fence built by Frank James, at 
his home near Wayton, Arkansas 

















to bed. He turned around, went into the 
house, closing the door behind him. Then 
silence reigned supreme. While sitting on 
our horses at the gate of the farmer, I 
thought of Harry and his guidepost. For 
the benefit of the silent doctor I began to 
hum, “The night was dark, the sun was hid 
beneath the mountain gray.” That old 
devil has gone to bed ,and left no one to 
tell us the the way. Laugh, doctor, and 
shake those blue feelings till they all drop 
off of you. 

The doctor was as mad as a disturbed 
hornet. He told me to shut my champs, 
that I was the cause of all the trouble. 
About four miles further up the creek, late 
that night, the star that had caused so 
much trouble, looked down upon two hu¬ 
man beings lying on their saddle blankets, 
sleeping off the troubels of the day. 

When we reached Ozark we put our 
horses in the livery stable and after peram¬ 
bulating over town for an hour or two, 
looking at the sights that never fail to in¬ 
terest new comers, we entered a restaurant 
for our supper. The restaurant was crowd¬ 
ed with people, and I soon learned that the 
Frisco Company were extending their line 
of road to Fort Smith. Thousands of peo¬ 
ple were at work on it, and the towns along 
the line were crowded with people, every 
night. Many of them used the pick and 
shovel during the day, and the knife and 
sling shot after night. It was dangerous for 

103 


any one to know you had money. I learn¬ 
ed also, that Sid Wallace was to hang at 
Clarksville, in a few days foi 4 killing a man 
named Ward. 

The doctor and I had a refreshing sleep 
that night. The next morning the streets 
were almost deserted. The people had gone 
to their work, leaving the loafers, the gam¬ 
blers and the prizefighters to hold to town. 
I was walking up a street, reading the 
signs nailed up in front of the business 
houses. I came to one that looked familiar 
to me. It said Elsie Bros. I stepped inside 
the house, and there behind the counter 
stood Cal Elsie, an old acquaintance in 
guerilla days. Cal, Bud and Tom Elsie had 
fought under the black flag. When the war 
had closed they opened up business at 
Ozark, and lived at peace with all mankind, 
and were respected by all who knew them. 

While there I had the pleasure of meeting 
my brother Jesse James, Cole, Bob and Jim 
Younger, George Shepherd, Cell Miller and 
Jim Cummins. They wanted volunteers to 
help take Sid Wallace from the authorities 
at Clarksville. After a few days stay they 
became discouraged and left as quietly as 
the^ had come. 

One night Ira Watson, the man who in af¬ 
ter years killed Bell Star, Tom Elsie, Dr. 
Morrow and I were having a quiet game of 
cards in the back room of the 333 Saloon, 
when a big rusty Irishman from Emerys, 
Illinois, walked in our room and demanded 


104 


to know what we were doing. We are hav¬ 
ing a game of cards, take a hand with us, 
said Tom Elsie. Not while I have my fight¬ 
ing clothes on, said the Irishman, as he 
grabbed the back of an empty chair, and 
was raising it to knock Elsie on the head. 
I jumped to my feet and threw my one hun¬ 
dred and seventy pounds weight against 
him, and the same time jabbing him in the 
side with my knife. The Irishman, in his 
drunken and dazed condition, fell on the 
floor as limp as a wet dish rag. We went 
to the door of the back room opened it and 
stepped out into the night. We were soon 
at the front, asking why such a gathering. 
Some one said, Oh, its nothing strange, 
some one has opened the hide of an Irish¬ 
man, and the doctor is in there sewing him 
up. Who did it, was asked. No one knows, 
they are all drunk by this time. 

I was pretty well acquainted with the 
people of Ozark. Dr. Morrow was building 
up a good practice and we were in no hur¬ 
ry to resume or travels to Texas. One 
morning Charlie Isens said to me (Charlie 
was a saloon keeper and good sport), that 
he wanted to borrow my horse, and I loan¬ 
ed it to him. He is the man I sold my horse 
to and got the buggy from. We stayed at 
Ozark until about the middle of the winter, 
when we staarted again for Texas. 

We attended a literary entertainment at 
Hackett City. The doctor saw Miss Alice 
Forbes, fell in love with her and married 

105 


her, and went in the drug business with his 
father-in-law. I sold goods for Williams & 
Elder. I was a great favorite with the Wil¬ 
liamses until the day of his death. He 
thought as much of me as he did for any 
of his family. His friendship came to 
me in this way: About five years before I 
was on my way to Texas, my route led me 
through Racket City. I stopped a Williams’ 
store to eat my dinner. I was a stranger, 
and while eating my oysters I heard two 
men quarreling just out the door. What’s 
the trouble out there, I asked a man stand¬ 
ing in the door. Richey has raised a row 
with Williams again, and is begging him to 
fight and Williams is a rheumatic cripple 
and not able to fight. I stepped to the door 
as Richey was shaking his fist in Williams’ 
face, and was chalenging him to fight. 
Richey was calling Williams all kinds of 
names. Right there I formed a resolution 
to whip Richey or take a whippnig. I told 
Williams to stand back and let me fight this 
pie faced devil. Richey turned to me and 
asked if I took it up. I do, I answered. He 
said all right, and pulled off his coat. I 
pulled my coat off, took two revolvers from 
their holsters and handed them to a man 
standing close by, then I told Richey I was 
ready. We went together in the mixup, and 
I soon learned that Richey was a scrapper. 
Richey was the stoutest but I was" the 
quickest. At last, as luck would have it, a 
punch on Richey’s chin staggered him so 

106 


that I got to give him two more in the short 
ribs. This ended the fight, as Richey said 
he was whipped. After the fight I went 
back! to the store and told the clerk to cut 
another can of oysters. Williams asked me 
my native country, and I told him Missouri. 
Did you ever see the James or Younger 
boys? The people of Hackett believed that 
I was Frank James, but were not sure of it. 
If they had known who I was, they would 
not have bothered me, for everybody in 
town was my friend, every town I went to 
I had plenty of friends. 

Mr. Williams said, you are not going to 
Texas, I want you to stay in my store. I 
am not able to be at the store. You need 
no reference. Your act of today proved to 
me that you are honest. The people of 
Hackett professed their friendship for me, 
and I was soon moving among the upper 
tens. 

Richey was a renter. He sold his crop 
and moved away. I was looked upon as a 
scrapper. The people said that I was the 
first man they ever heard of that would quit 
eating oysters long enough to fight a bat¬ 
tle for a man he had never seen! before. 

At the picnics and other entertainments 
I was always wanted to act as officer of 
the day. This honor I always refused. 
While working for Williams I got the news 
of Jesse James’ death, through a Kansas 
City paper. Is Joe Vaughn Frank James? 
is the question that the people want to 

107 


know. But up to this present writing, it' is 
not my duty to tell everyone who I am. 
There are only two persons who have the 
secret of my life. One lives in Johnson 
county and the other in Newton county. It 
is thought by some that a woman can’t 
keep a secret. It is true that Deliah betray¬ 
ed Sampson, but that is no example to go 
by. I have been betrayed by men, but never 
fully by women. This is one reason that I 
am so fond of the fair sex. 

A woman, if she is small, good looking, 
and of a loving disposition, is a God-given 
boon to a man. Or a woman or a man of 
a prying and inquisitive disposition, ready 
at all times toi say I tell nothing, that kind 
of a person can’t keep a secret. But a per¬ 
son that lets his eyes do the talking, can 
keep a secret at all times. 

Can the eyes talk? Of course they can. 
The eyes talk from the heart and not from 
thq teeth. I am of a disposition to win 
friends. There was never a time that I 
didn’t have a host of friends. Back in our 
old guerilla days I had plenty of friends. My 
brother and I never could have done what 
we did in old Missouri if it hadn’t been for 
friends. If I wounded the feelings of a 
friend, I always made amends when appris¬ 
ed of it. When I gambled, if I lost I gave up 
the money without a word. If I won I al¬ 
ways took the money. I was always called 
the fair gambler. 

My brother and I never liked each others’ 


108 


ways. We fought each other from the time 
we first met until we were separated. The 
last time we fought he told me it would take 
a six shooter to settle our next difficulty. 
He had a bad disposition and always wanted 
to kill, one warning was all. When he said 
he would shoot, he never failed to do so. 
That, however, was never my disposition. I 
always refrained from killing anyone, unless 
it was necessary in order to save my own 
life, or to defend a friend. My brother 
would have died for me, and I would have 
done the same for him. We fought side by 
side in the old days, and did many things, 
while in old Missouri, the home of my child¬ 
hood. But I always told my brother that he 
was too eager to take life, that he was too 
bad to shoot. He would not allow a word 
said about our mother. He loved his moth¬ 
er, and the way mother was treated caused 
us to do many things that we would have 
left undone. 

Dear readers, what would you do if the 
citizens would throw a bomb in your house 
and kill your little baby brother and blow 
off your mother’s arm? Me and my 
brother were over a hundred miles away. 
We stayed among the red men, and while 
we were hunting and having a good time 
with the red men, rumors said that we were 
in some city doing a big business, or on a 
visit to my aunt, at San Francisco, Califor¬ 
nia. Big rewards were offered for us. The 
officers searched for us in fast places, Chi- 

109 




cago and St. Louis, Mo., were sifted from 
top to bottom, while the Pinkerton detec¬ 
tives professed to be hot on our trail, in 
some big city, we would be punching cattle 
on a Western ranch. 

We never disguised ourselves, as there 
was no use in it. We always avoided a pic¬ 
ture gallery. The officers were at a disad¬ 
vantage—our facial appearance, shape and 
weight they did not know. All they had to 
go by was the description the newspaper 
men handed out to the world, and they 
were not always correct. I have seen what 
was supposed to have been my picture in 
books and papers, but never was my pic¬ 
ture. It was a false picture. There are 
many things published by newspaper men 
that is not correct. Some people think that 
Frank James died years ago, with consump¬ 
tion, about fifteen years back. 

I read in a paper about Frank James. The 
paper stated that he died in the Rocky 
Mountains with consumption. About four 
years ago I read of his death. The people 
have a great mixup about the James boys. 
I have heard people discuss about how 
they looked. Some say that Frank was the 
largest, while others contend that Jesse was 
the largest, and right now, the people of 
Missouri can’t give their description, be¬ 
cause we were only boys, fourteen and six¬ 
teen years old when we were treated so 
badly by the home guards. I have stayed in 

110 



hiding and out of the way of the law since 
the age of seventeen. 

Of course Quantral’s band and all my 
friends knew me, but the public did not. I 
have been about forty-eight years from 
home and friends. All I know about my 
folks is what I can gather from the papers. 
My folks think that I am dead. I have long 
* given up the idea of seeing my folks again. I 
have sat for hours studying about my condi¬ 
tion, and sometimes think that I will pass 
away and never allow any one to know who 
I am. But I have some children that cannot 
be fooled. I hate to let my children know 
just who their father is. 

I have reared seven boys and two girls, 
and have tried to raise upright men and 
women. I have tried as hard as ever a fa¬ 
ther did to rear my children to be good, 
law-abiding citizens, and I have had good 
success. I have studied a great deal about 
my past life, and one day one of my daugh¬ 
ters said to me, “I would like to know just 
who I am, father, you haven’t got me fool¬ 
ed.” I promised her then and there that I 
would let her know who she was, and that 
is just why I have written this history, to 
be printed, after I am dead. 


i 


111 


CHAPTER VIV. 


Well do I remember that one day as I was 
standing on the street in front of the Minge 
Hotel, Warrensburg, Johnson county, Mis¬ 
souri, two officers of the town met. One 
said to the other, “I have good news, my pa¬ 
per states that Frank James and Jesse 
James, Jim, Bob and Cole Younger, Oil and 
George Shepherd were surrounded in an old 
dilapidated building in East St. Louis, and 
it was only a question of time when they 
would have to make a full surrender. There 
is no use trying to outwit or get away from 
the officers.’’ 

I stood there and heard every word that 
was said, pretending not to be interested. 
They told all about how we were caught 
and would have to surrender. 

I went to one of my aunts living on the 
Osage river, and there the leading Dutch of 
the country declared themselves in our fa¬ 
vor and said that we had been mistreated 
and forced to do what we had done. 

I rented a farm in the Osage river bot¬ 
tom, and went back home after my child¬ 
hood sweetheart, Luiza Tupker, a Dutch 
girl, whom I had gone to school with before 
the war. I was returning home from the 
clerk’s office with my license in my pocket, 
on Saturday before the day I was to marry 
on Sunday, and overtook Henry Overgu- 
ner. He informed me that there was to be 
a dance at old man Pathop’s that night, and 

112 


wanted me to come to it, saying they were 
going to have a time. I told Henry I did not 
think it advisable for me to go. He said 
that John, Sam and Jake Wedebrook would 
be there and that there would be no danger 
of trouble. 

I went over and got Luiza and took her 
to the dance. It was late when we got 
there. As soon as I entered the dance hall 
I saw trouble brewing, as did Luiza. She 
said lets go home. We started to leave the 
room, and in passing the door Overguner 
said, you son of a B-, what are you do¬ 

ing here, and caught me by the throat. We 
fell to the floor, with Overguner on top. 
Some one in the crowd that had gathered 
yelled out “cut him off.” Some one else 
said “he has no knife. “Shoot out the 
lights,” some one said. About this time 
some one placed a dirk knife in my hand, 
and I struck at the bulk that was on me. 
Overguner groaned and rolled off me. I had 
stabbed him to save my own life. 

It was at first thought that I had given 
him a death wound, but he finally got well. 
The leading men of the county were in my 
favor, and advised me to leave the country. 
After I had stabbed Overguner and every¬ 
body thought that he was killed, the lights 

were turned on and I was gone. I bade the 
Pathoff’s dane goodbye, as also did Luiza, 
my intended wife. I went to Yellville, Ma¬ 
rion county, Arkansas, and carried the mail 


113 



for High Noc, from Yellville to Forsythe. 
Mo. 

I went to school to Bill Sewell, the father 
of our ex-prosecuting attorney. Sold 
goods for High and Jack Noc. I was having 
a good time right at my old home, and no 
one took the thought who I really was. 
When I left Marion county, Arkansas, I ran 
away with Bud Lovel’s wife. I went from 
Marion county, Ark., to Jackson county, 
Missouri. In a burn out one night at a cir¬ 
cus show, in the town of Warrensburg, I 
was separated from Bud Lovel’s wife, and 
saw her no more. I will say right here 
that four of the boys who were implicated 
with me in the fight the night of the dance 
at Pathoff’s were sent to the penitentiary. 
My enemies said they would have me if I 
stayed above ground. 

I knew that they would swear enough lies 
against me to send me to the pen for life. 
They raised $955.00 reward for my appre¬ 
hension. Time after time an officer or a 
detective has tried to arrest me, but good 
luck always favored me so that I could 
make my escape. 

While I was in Marion county, Winegar 
was shot and killed, while plowing in the 
field. I was overt two hundred miles away, 
yet over a half dozen men offered to swear 
that they saw me the evening of the killing, 
slipping down towards his filed with a gun 
in my hand. 

So you see there were many things done 

114 


which were charged to me which I never 
did. 

One day several years ago, about 1902, I 
was at Swain, and Bud Lovel was there, 
and he swore if he ever saw me he would 
kill me for taking his wife away from him. 
I was at the school house. He sent one of 
the Nortens boys to tell me to come out to 
where he was sitting on a stump. I walked 
up to him and asked what was wanted. He 
looked at me a few minutes and said you 
are not the man I thought you were. He 
showed me a picture he was carrying in his 
pocket, and said there is a reward for this 
man. I asked him if I was the man, and he 
said I was not. We waited till the ones that 
had followed and were looking on went 
back in the house and then he looked me 
right in the eye and said I know you, and 
called me by name. I asked him if he want¬ 
ed the reward, and he said he did not. 

He looked at me and laughed, saying my 
purpose in coming here was to arrest or kill 
you, but I never will betray a man 1 because 
I am mad at him. You have made your es¬ 
cape this long, so never will I say a word 
about seeing you. Everybody thinks that 
you are dead, and you can remain that way 
as far as I care. We talked a few minutes 
longer and parted. I told him we would 
turn our faces together and walk backward. 
We walked that way for about 100 yards. I 
told him not to turn around until I told him 
to turn. When I spoke we turned our backs 


115 


on each other, and each went his way. He 
never did say a word about seeing me. He 
was telling the truth about not wanting the 
reward. I have never seen nor heard of 
him since. 


116 


1 


CHAPTER XV. 


Who was Bell Star? is asked by the news¬ 
paper men. Bell Star was a native of Kan¬ 
sas. Her maiden name was Shirley. She 
was known as the bronco rider. 

At the age of sixteen years, her brother, 
Captain Shirley sent her to the camp of 
Federals, a distance of twenty-five miles, to 
learn their movements. She soon learned, 
after arriving at camp that her brother’s 
camp would be attacked. Late that after¬ 
noon when the soldiers found out that Bell 
was Capt. Shirley’s sister they had her ar¬ 
rested and put under guard, with orders 
that she be not turned loose until after the 
raiders had been sent out to visit her broth¬ 
er’s camp had been gone one half hour. 

When the half hour had expired Bell was 
turned loose. When she gained her liberty 
she mounted her pony and was off like the 
wind, through fields and pastures, jumping 
fences, on and on, until she was hid from 
view among the low hills of the Kansas 
prairies. When the detachment of soldiers 
arrived at Shirley’s camp he was gone. Bell 
had got there first. This famous ride gave 
Bell the name of bronco rider. 

When the civil war was over Bell married 
Jim Reed, a noted highwayman, who had 
served under Quantral. Jim Reed and my 
father were brothers. I was a base begot¬ 
ten child. It was never known to the world. 
My parents came from Tennessee to Mis- 

117 


souri. I was born a short time after they 
arrived in Clay County, Missouri, and the 
people never knew or thought anything 
about the child that was called Frank 
James. My mother was promised to be mar¬ 
ried secretly to a man named Edd Reed. He 
was killed before I was born, and to save 
the disgrace my mother married Robert 
James and then moved to Missouri. So the 
people of this old world did not know that 
Frank and Jesse James were only half 
brothers. 

After Bell married Jim Reed old man 
Shirley told her that he would never forgive 
her for marrying Reed, and that he would 
give her all the trouble that he could. They 
were run out of Illinois and Iowa and they 
went to Texas, where Reed was killed a 
short time after they moved there. They 
had one child and named him Edd Reed. 
Edd, after he was grown to be a man, serv¬ 
ed for years in Oklahoma, as United States 
Marshal, and a bandit at the same time. He 
was a killer when imposed on. He at last 
began his route at the dangerous end of a 
six-shooter, and died with his boots on. 

A short time after Jim Reed died Bell 
married Henry Starr. Henry Starr was 
killed in a pistol duel with a United States 
Marshal. After Henry Starr was killed 
Bell married John Starr. He also went the 
pistol route. She afterwards married Sam 
Starr, a son of Tom Star. Bell had a girl 
by Cole Younger, named Pearl Starr. Her 


118 



Dr. J. O. McFerrni, who was the family physician in 
the home of Frank James for twenty years 













name should have been Pearl Younger, af¬ 
ter her father, Cole Younger, according to 
nurse papers handed out to the world. 
Pearl was killed several years ago in an au¬ 
tomobile smasliup at Fort Smith, according 
to the nervspapers, but I don’t count on 
what the newspapers say, I have read so 
much about myself in newspapers. Bell 
Starr was waylaid and killed by a man nam¬ 
ed Watson. Bell knew about him killing a 
man in Kentucy. They got into a dispute 
about some land. Watson was living on 
Bell’s place. Bell told him if he did not do 
what was right she would tell what she 
knew about the killing in Kentucky. 

Bell ate dinner at Watson’s the day she 
was killed, near her home on the Canadian 
river in Oklahoma. Bell was a bandit, and 
knew how to handle a gun, but in other 
respects she was as true as steel. 

Cole Younger was captured in Minnesota, 
while he and his band were trying to rob the 
Northfield bank. He was given a life sen¬ 
tence in the penitentiary. He served twen¬ 
ty years and was pardoned. He repented 
and joined the church, lived a useful life and 
died surrounded by loving friends. 

Cole had three brothers, John, Jim and 
Bob. John w r as killed in a duel with a de¬ 
tective just after the civil war. Jim died of 
w r ounds received at the Northfield bank. 
Bob Younger received a life sentence in the 
pen, and was pardoned the same day, with 
Cole. Bob died the next day after receiving 

119 


his pardon. He died from hemorrhage of 
the bowels. 

George Shepherd was killed in Texas for 
turning traitor to the James and Youngers. 
The whereabouts of Cell Miller is unknown. 

Listen, readers. I have read about Cell 
Miller’s death but know it to be false. He 
is unknown today. 

Sam Starr, Bell’s last husband, was a rob¬ 
ber, and died at the end of a six-shooter at 
a dance, in Whitefield, Choctaw Nation. The 
man that killed him didn’t know at first that 
he had killed the most dreaded man in Ok¬ 
lahoma. 

Bell had only two children. One by Reed, 
her first man. She named him Edd Reed, 
as I have stated before, he served as U. S. 
Marshal and highwayman at the same time, 
for years, without being detected. He was 
a killer when imposed upon. He killed John 
and Jake Chritention, two U. S. Marshals, 
one morning, after giving them a chance 
to shoot first, but he finally met his fate, 
and died with his boots on. 


120 


CHAPTER XVI. 

As I sit and write, my mind goes back to 
a fight between Bill Anderson and McCoy. 
As I sit for hours, with my eyes shut, I can 
see a mass of struggling and bleeding hu¬ 
man flesh, yelling for the side they want to 
win. Now and then a contestant is carried 
off the field with a broken arm, leg, dead or 
dying. Squaws with a cup of coffee rush 
in among the struggling mass, yelling for 
their friends. Anderson and McCoy meet. 
They are on opposite sides. One says to the 
other are you a warrior? If you are, prove 
it. They draw their guns. Anderson shoots 
McCoy through the heart. McCoy’s broth¬ 
er, one of the contestants in the ball game 
sees his brother fall from his horse. He 
gave the war whoop of his tribe. The Otoes 
break the game, rush to the camp of the 
Catawbes, take the guns and pistols of the 
almost nude warriros and for miles a run¬ 
ning fight was on. Many dead Indians on 
both sides lay scattered along the trails of 
death. 

The Otoes take possession of all the camp 
utensils and drive all the cattle belonging to 
Catawbes away. 

Again the curtain falls and rises again. 
The same valley streams and cottonwood 
trees come into view. Near the center of 
the plain a young Indian buck stands beside 
his dead pony fighting for his life. It is 
Anderson, the murderer of McCoy. He is 

121 


surrounded by Ota Indians, his mortal ene¬ 
mies. Three Otoes warriors lay dead be¬ 
fore him. Another staggers, as a bullet 
from Anderson’s pistol pierces his breast. 
A buff of smoke rises from the muzzle of 
a pistol in the hands of an Indian and An¬ 
derson reels, drops his pistol and falls be¬ 
side his dead horse. 

Again the curtain goes down, and Frank 
James is at home nursing his swolen feet, 
and pleading for the sympathy of his friends. 
With bowed head I sit for hours, listening to 
the notes of the song birds. Often a feel¬ 
ing of loneliness steels over me. My youth 
days are behind me, and the rush of years 
beats down my strength. I am a broken 
reed, floating down the current of time. 

The old earth and all its beauties are slip¬ 
ping further and further away from me. I 
am on the last stage of human life. My 
days are numbered and my time will come. 

I watch the sun of da,y as it steals up from 
behind the eastern slope and begins its 
course across the sky. It makes me think 
of that boy who wandered from his child¬ 
hood home, in the misty years gone by. I 
often say that that cloud I see fleeting 
across the heavens, may have cast a dark 
shadow on my father’s old homestead. That 
buzzard, a mere speck in the sky, perform¬ 
ing wide circles with outstretched wings, 
may have, from a dizzy height, looked 
down on the field which I toiled in when I 
was a boy. 


122 


Often my mind goes back across many 
hills, valleys, winding streams and wide- 
stretched prairies, to my mother and home 
on the Missouri River. The sound of the 
woods around my mother’s home is lovely 
in my ears. 

My God, I can see the flowers of the val¬ 
ley growing, and shaking their white heads 
in the passing breeze. Boats of commerce 
push their way through the murky waters 
of the mighty Misouri. Small boats are 
moored to drooping willows along the river 
bank. 

When time points the finger of death at 
me these panoramic views will cease to ap¬ 
pear. Before my vision, this life at its best, 
is but a dream. It affords but a scanty 
measure of enjoyment, while I am passing 
down the stream of time. I have arrived at 
that stage where all men become childish. 
To a stage where a kind word spoken 
by a friend will send a flow of sunshine into 
the heart of the one spoken to; but a word 
out of place will open wounds that will 
bleed for many days. 

My path through life has been rugged. 
Snares set for me on every hand. The life 
behind me is checked with good and evil. 
After many years of wandering, the proud 
hearted boy, once known by his mother as 
Edd Reed, like the prodigal son, desires to 
visit the land of his birth, and stand beside 
his mother’s grave; but that can never be. 
I will never be able and have the strength. 


123 


I am old and can't stand the trip; I have 
waited too long. 

I am not only sick in body, I am sick in 
mind. I want to stand on the old homestead 
as in the days of yore, and watch the harrow 
shaped lines of geese passing overhead, 
making their way to the Southland. A wlid 
fancy takes possession of me. Listen, again 
I can hear the honk honk, honk, coming 
from a bunch of wild geese, as they stand 
on the sand bar out in the river, directly in 
front of mother’s door. Chub, chub, chub, 
a noise above the swish of the water, lap¬ 
ping the river bank. What is it? A river 
boat churning her way up the river to some 
trading point. 

As I sit with my eyes closed, studying 
about the years gone by, Oh, such feelings 
creep over me. As I look out over the land¬ 
scape that stretches out before me, fields, 
gardens, gorges and mountains meet my 
gaze. When I close my eyes the scene 
changes. I look upon new scenes. I am 
living my life over again. I feel young and 
bouyant; with health and life-giving blood 
coursing through my veins. As the nights 
come on I lay on my cot, studying of the 
days gone by. I have a host of friends. All 
the little children seem to love me, as they 
come and stand by my cot and say, Uncle 
Joe, how do you feel today? 

You don’t know the feeling that creeps 
over me, to think the man once known as 
Frank James, the great bandit, could gain 

124 


the friendship of the little children. That is 
why my former days trouble me so. I lay 
on my cot on the porch and watch the de¬ 
parting day, as darkness comes on, a star 
silps out in view, and looks down upon this 
old slumbering world. 

A countless number of little friends keep 
coming to see me. Great God, is it possible 
that I again hear the notes of the mocking 
bird singing a requiem for my dead mother 
from the hawthorn tree standing near the 
city of the dead, where mother sleeps. Cut 
myself loose from every tie. The spirit that 
drove was a dogged and oathbound thing. 
I have felt that fire and that thrill, the wan¬ 
dering boy’s home. 

I am tempest tossed, on a strange sea. 
The sun has gone to rest behind the west¬ 
ern hills, the last sunbeam has withdrawn 
from this old strange world. The day has 
departed from my cot and I can hear the 
name, mother, as it is wafted through the 
air. 

As I sit and study about the things past 
and gone my mind goes back to the old cave 
in Jackson county, Missouri. To the old 
hiding place of the desperado, where many 
things happened. Well do I remember Cole 
Younger putting on the bear skin and going 
to where mother put a loaf of bread in a 
log. That loaf of bread had a note in it 
from my sister telling me about the cave 
going to be blown up that night. All these 
things are fresh in my memory. 

125 


I could tell about several banks being 
robbed by the Janies boys, but there is/ too 
much already published on them. I know 
there were many daring things done by the 
Jameses and Youngers, and others, but 
they had a cause for doing what they did. 
I don’t want to boast about what was done. 
Neither do I wnat to justify myself for the 
life I have lived, because it has not been 
a pleasant life. I have gone by the names 
of Edd Reed, Frank James, Frank Vaughn 
and Joe Vaughn. The people of Hackett 
City know me as Joe Vaughn. Mr. Williams, 
the father of Hamp Williams, knew me by 
that name. Mr. Williams always seemed 
like a father to me. He is the man that 
educated Frank James. He never knew it. 
He never knew or thought that the boy who 
went to school with his children was an out¬ 
law and bandit. 

As I have stated before, it does not matter 
what I may have done in my younger days, 
I always had friends. If Mr. Williams and 
his wife were alive today, and should learn 
who I am, I don’t believe that it would 
change their love for me. Hampy, poor old 
Hampy, when I got the paper with your pic¬ 
ture in it, I had to take a cry, for I thought 
as much of you, as though you had been my 
brother. I would give anything to see you 
before I pass away, but that will never be, 
for I can’t live long. You can read this 
history in remembrance of me after I am 
dead, and laid away in the cold earth. 


126 


It is my request that my history be pub¬ 
lished by the one who has it. I have a boy 
by the name of Frank Vaughn, somewhere 
in the world. His mother thought she 
named him after his father. 

Readers, I know it will be hard to make 
people believe that I am the only Frank 
James that ever existed, that there never 
was a real Frank James, that the boy Frank 
James was none other than Edd Reed. I 
will not say very much about Jesse James. 
The world thinks that Robert Ford killed 
Jesse James, but I will say right here that 
the James boys never were captured. 

Some day you may read the true history 
of Jesse James, my brother. If any one 
doubts my writing this history, you may 
write any leading men of- Newton county. 
There are several of the people around 
Wayton, who have heard me read a portion 
of this history myself. While sitting around 
and feeling lonesome, some friend would 
come, and I would read some of my life to 
them, but still they didn’t think about me 
being Frank James. 

I want to say here that the man Starr that 
attempted to rob the Harrison Bank, was 
a cousin of mine, and Bell Sarr was also 
my aunt. She married my father’s brother. 

Listen, readers, when I laid aside my old 
life, I certainly laid aside everything, and 
began a new life. I have tried to make my 
new life overbalance my old wild life. 

I have been trying for over forty years to 


127 


lead a life that would enable me to live 
again. So after I am laid to rest in my 
grave, don’t judge me to be such a bad man. 
Of course, I have done things that were 
wrong to do, but let me say right here, 
that I never did take a penny from the poor, 
nor molest them. What I did I did for re¬ 
venge, for the way we were treated when 
we were young. 

Let me say to the young boys of today, 
don’t ever start out through life wanting re¬ 
venge. Don’t ever think about leading the 
life of a desperado, for it is not a pleasant 
life to live. It is true, I have made my es¬ 
cape, but do not ever undertake the things 
that I have done. 

For thirty-eight years I have carried 
compass and staff, as surveyor. I have 
traced many lines over hills and mountains, 
through gorges, along winding streams, in 
and out of this county. Thirty-eight years 
ago I felt bouyant and full of life, but now 
I am old, and almost helpless. I know that 
I am at the sunset of life, and the evening 
is far advanced. When that old devouring 
scythe has clipped the brittle thread of life, 
and I am plunged into that valley of the 
shadow of death, in that state of darkness 
that separates this life and the life to come, 
sleeping off the corruption of the body, will 
that desire for revenge be left in the grave, 
so that when the angels of heaven bid me 
arise from the tomb, a fit subject for that 
land from whose home no traveler returns? 


123 


The year that the news went out that 
Jesse James was killed by Robert Ford, at St. 
Joe, Missouri, I was clerking for Elder & Gil¬ 
bert, at Hackett City, Sebastian county, Ar¬ 
kansas. I received a letter from Redding, 
the sheriff of Scott county, asking me to 
come to Waldron and help him to get to¬ 
gether evidence against Walt Malone, Tom 
Bates and Don Gilbreth, sufficient to con¬ 
vict them for killing Shabe Davenport, a 
merchant of Waldron. Peace had never 
been thoroughly established since the war, 
and a bitter fued existed between the 
Thomases and Malones, and their friends. 
Several men had been shot and killed on the 
street of Waldron for some unknown cause. 
Time and again, the militia had been sent 
there to establish peace, but all the militia 
could do was to keep peace during their stay. 
As soon as they left killings would com¬ 
mence again. 

The good citizens of Scott county were 
getting tired of the way some of the people 
of Waldron were doing. When a man got 
killed it was considered death to the witness 
who testified against the man who did the 
killing. This was the condition which Wal¬ 
dron was in. When I went there no one in 
Waldron knew my mission except the sher¬ 
iff and Jim Williams, a merchant. William 
Shambly hired me to clerk for him, and I 
boarded with a man named Dosier. I had 
an object in doing so, as he lived close to 
the place where Davenport was shot. Mrs. 

129 


Dosier was a talkative woman, and soon 
put me in possession of all I wanted to 
know. 

Davenport had a sweetheart living a 
short distance from town, and he would vis¬ 
it her very often, always at night. He was 
in sympathy with the Thomas party, and 
the Malones dreaded him. Davenport, ac¬ 
cording to Mrs. Dosier’s story, would wait 
until night set in before starting to see his 
sweetheart. The evening he was killed, Mrs. 
Dosier saw Walt Malone, Dr. Hooper and 
Don Gilbreth pass her house with their 
guns. They stopped and knelt down at the 
corner of an old brickyard close to the road 
which Davenport would have to travel. 
They had not been there long when Dav¬ 
enport rode by, and when he got opposite 
the men in hiding they raised to their feet 
and shot him in the back, then threw their 
guns in a hole of water in the brickyard, 
and walked back to town. 

When these men shot Davenport, his 
horse carried him about one hundred yards 
before he fell to the ground. He lay nearly 
all that night, faintly calling for help, but 
those who heard were afraid to go to him. 
If Hamp Williams is alive when this is 
printed he can tell how we guarded the 
pond where the men threw the guns that 
killed Shabe Davenport. 

Ever since; I was at Hackett City, I have 
been trying to make Newton county a citi¬ 
zen not to be ashamed of. When I left 


130 



FRANK JAMES 

As he lay dead, in his coffin, at Wayton, 
Arkansas, February 14th, 1926 










Hackett City, peace was established. The 
people of Hackett City thought that I went 
back to the Indian Territory, but I went to 
Paris, crossed the Arkansas river at Spadra, 
stayed all night at Clraksville, Arkansas, 
and next morning bright and early I was on 
my way to Newton county, Arkansas. 
Night overtook me at John Crawford’s, 
where I stayed all night. The next day I 
ate dinner at Swain, and the night following 
I slept under the roof of Joe Richardson, on 
what is called the Gum Brench. 

About one month after I came to Newton 
county I was married to Nancy Richardson, 
and nine children have been born to us, as 
follows: James Robert, Sarah Elizabeth, 
Ebb Gronvel, William Nelson, John Henry, 
Marion Frances, George Washington, Josire 
Charlie and Nancy Lee. Forty years have 
rolled away since I came to Newton coun¬ 
ty, and for forty years I have been unknown 
to the people of Newton. 

For forty years I have been trying to 
make Newton county a citizen of whom she 
should not be ashamed. Nearly all the peo¬ 
ple who knew me as Joe Vaughn, before I 
came to this country, believed me killed 
when in a drunken band, when I went to 
the Nation with my two kegs of water. I 
came straight from Hackett City to Newton 
county, Arkansas. This is the 9th day of 
December, 1925. 

My mind goes back to the day in Octo¬ 
ber, 1882, when the supposed Frank James 

132 


made his appearance to Governor Critten¬ 
den and surrendered. Little did Governor 
Crittendon know of the trick that was 
worked on him. I will not give the man’s 
name who surrendered for Frank James, as 
it might be possible that he is alive today. 
Ever since then I have been lost to my peo¬ 
ple. It is true, the people have had me dead 
for several years, and it will be hard for 
them to believe that I made my escape, as 
I did. 

My folks name me as dead. I have been 
burned and my bones delivered up as proof 
of my death. 

I want to say again, I have not gone 
through life without friends. The James 
family was a mystery to the people of Mis¬ 
souri, they went by several different names. 

Something around forty years since I 
came to Newton county, and settled down 
on Little Buffalo creek, near Murry; here 
I settled down on a quarter section of land 
and reared nine children to marriageable 
age. Two years after I came to Newton 
county, Arkansas, I was elected County 
Surveyor under the name of Joe Vaughn. I 
ran on the Democratic ticket. At the close 
of tny first term I ran again and was elect¬ 
ed. Since that time I have served Newton 
county as principal or deputy. For forty 
years I have' been climbing ledges, crossing 
logs, crossing the rocky bound gorges in 
this and other counties, locating home¬ 
steads for homeseekers, and restoring lost 

133 


( 


and obliterated lines and corners, made by 
the original surveyors years ago. 

Years ago I quit the farm and took to the 
woods. 

This book was written and finished on 
December 10th, 1925. 

Say, Hampy, when you were in Jasper 
last fall, I was in the South, looking after 
the interests of a timber company. Had I 
known that you were to be in Jasper, I 
would have gone to see you, because I love 
the Williams family. Your father gave a 
speech in my behalf the night I was ballot¬ 
ed upon to take my first degree in Masonry. 
He conducted me through the first and 
second degrees, but was sick the night I 
took my third degree. I have love and re¬ 
spect for the Williams family, and want to 
say again, to be such a bad man, I just 
wanted revenge. 




. i 


134 


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